BISHOP BROOKS. THE STUDENTS OF HARVARD AWAITING THE FUNERAL CORTEGE.

Why, with uncovered head Stand they upon that fleece of snow Mute-stricken, as of sudden woe? Silent they wait the dead. Comes there some hero slain Upon the blood-red field of war? With soldier-guarded funeral car, And glittering martial train. No gun with sullen roar; No flaunting emblems from the fight To spread his fame, to tell his might; Who died, to die no more. With reverend tread, and slow, All noiselessly the footsteps fall; As sombre garb, and plume and pall Pass o'er the soft, white snow. 'Mid Love's choice offering Of sweet, rare flowers, whose tender breath Speak brightest life, serenest death, He lies, affection's king. Triumph of Christian faith O'er spurious sophistries of time; The sinless walk; the end sublime, No ghastly fears to scathe. Pass on unto thy rest Thou generous heart! thou rich in lore! Thou whom all creeds and castes deplore;— God knoweth what is best.