Poem by William Cullen Bryant

“No Man Knoweth His Sepulchre”

When he, who, from the scourge of wrong,
    Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,
Saw the fair region, promised long,
    And bowed him on the hills to die;

God made his grave, to men unknown,
    Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,
And laid the aged seer alone
    To slumber while the world grows old.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just
    Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust
    Till the pure spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
    His servant's humble ashes lie,
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
    To call its inmate to the sky.

1. “Blessed Are They That Mourn”
2. The Hunter of the Prairies
3. A Scene on the Banks of the Hudson
4. Rizpah
5. Hymn to Death

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