After this when Moses had showed to them all the laws of our Lord, and ceremonies, and had governed them forty years, and that he was an hundred and twenty years old, he ascended from the fields of Moab upon the mountain of Nebo into the top of Pisgah against Jericho, and there our Lord showed to him all the land of Gilead unto Dan, and the land of promise from that one end unto that other.  And then our Lord said to him:  This is the land that I promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, saying:  I shall give it to thy seed.  Now thou hast seen it with thine eyes, and shalt not enter ne come therein.  And there in that place died Moses, servant of our Lord, as God commanded, and was buried in the vale of the land of Moab against Beth-peor.  And yet never man knew his sepulchre unto this day.  Moses was an hundred and twenty years old when he died, his eyes never dimmed, ne his teeth were never moved.  The children of Israel wept and mourned for him thirty days in the fields of Moab.  Joshua the son of Nun was replenished with the spirit of wisdom; for Moses set on him his hands, and the children obeyed him as our Lord had commanded to Moses.  And there was never after a prophet in Israel like unto Moses, which knew and spake to God face to face in all signs and tokens that God did and showed by him in the land of Egypt to Pharaoh and all his servants.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES

By Nebo’s lonely mountain,
  On this side Jordan’s wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
  There lies a lonely grave. 
And no man knows that sepulchre,
  And no man saw it e’er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
  And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral
  That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
  Or saw the train go forth—­
Noiselessly as the daylight
  Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek
  Grows into the great sun.

Noiselessly as the springtime
  Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
  Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music,
  Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain’s crown
  The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle,
  On gray Beth-peor’s height,
Out of his lonely eyrie
  Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking,
  Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard
  That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,
  His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
  Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
  They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed,
  While peals the minute gun.

Amid the noblest of the land
  We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honored place
  With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept,
  Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings,
  Along the emblazoned wall.