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The rugged mount, the people stood in mournful groups,Some, with quivering lips and tearful eyes,Reaching out unconscious hands, as if to stayHis steps and keep him ever at their side, whileOthers gazed with reverent awe uponThe calm and solemn beauty on his aged brow,The look of loving trust and lofty faithStill beaming from an eye that neither careNor time had dimmed. As he passed upward, tenderBlessings, earnest prayers and sad farewells roseOn each wave of air, then died in one sweetMurmur of regretful love; and Moses stoodAlone on Nebo's mount.
Alone! not oneOf all that mighty throng who had trod with himIn triumph through the parted flood was there.Aaron had died in Hor, with son and brotherBy his side; and Miriam too was gone.But kindred hands had made her grave, and KadeshHeld her dust. But he was all alone; nor wifeNor child was there to clasp in death his hand,And bind around their bleeding hearts the preciousParting words. And yet he was not all alone,For God's great presence flowed around his pathAnd stayed him in that solemn hour.He stood upon the highest peak of Nebo,And saw the Jordan chafing through its gorges,
