Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1892-05-20

AAe'sSS inv hSJSNcihS iiii
the other according most enthusiastic
acceptance and exalted faith. But
there can be no doubt whatever as to
the place held by the "good gray poet"
in the hearts of his friends, of his
townspeople, of all with whom he
came in personal contact during
his full active life. He was
the peer of the greatest, the
friend of the most lowly, the sympa-
thizer with the degraded and suffering
and the champion of the oppressed.
He loved, and was beloved by children.
So it befell that, on the sunny March
morning when his body lay in simple
state in the little cottage of Miclxle
street, in the city of Camden, New
j ersev, where the last heroic years of
his life had ebbed away, continuous
stream of people during four hours
passed in and out of the door, coming
reverently to look their last on the
face of the superb old man, whom they
were accustomed to call, in preference
to any other title. Friend Walt"
Fond singer Of MY Captain" and the door
yard lilac flower
In plaintive measures moulded On the nations
darkest hour;
Thy name clasped close with Lincoln's must be
dear to chant and rhyme,
Until spring forgets its blossoms, and the birds
their pGiring-time.
Prairies broad, things autochthonic and the
common leaves of grass
Small and large alike in value, honeyed, tender,
sad or Grass.
Stirred the Tyre shaped large TO freedom and
to sturdy untaught power;
Health IL breathes and robust vigor, and Il
strikes the present hour
Nothing falls imprisoned of wonder in the spec.
trum OF this muse
Singing jocundly of sunlight shadows, too, II
well can choose;
Its vision beams full-orbed upon the soul and
inmost thoughts Of things,
And who has an ear to listen hears its deep
Il ollan strings.
There's a rhyme of the drum-tap, and chant
for poor or brave;
Here a touch OF sturdy manhood, here a grace
all smooth and suave;
Nota note, If struck by nature, does it finically
ilout;
II great Pan the chord accepts the poet sill
Hot ruleit out.
V.
Now, when springtimes soft caresses bring
once more the lllacs bloom,
Garlands fragrant with its odor shall be laid
upon a tomb,
Where civilian and soldier may for ages pause
and pass,
And where the epitaph OF nature will be simply
leaves OF grass.
On a wooded hillside in the Ha rleigN
cemetery, two or three miles out east
ward from the city of Camden, Walt
Whitman's mausoleum had beeN built,
under his personal supervision, during
the summer months preceding his last
illness. tits massive vault of granite,
with front like the Cyclopean door.
way to Agamemnon's tomb at Mycene,
as depicted by DR.. Schliemann. The
day being fine, a throng numbering
fully three thousand persons went out
to the cemetery to attend the burial
services, which consisted entirely of
short addresses, interspersed with
readings from the Bible, the classics,
and the writings of the dead poet him
self. The trappings and the pomp of
woe were noticeably absent. In short,
it was such funeral as befitted
one who had written so bravely
as he had about death. The
most notable address was that of Col.
Robert G.. Ingersoll. The other speak
ers were DIR. Daniel G. Brinton, of
Philadelphia; DIR. Maurice Buckle, of
Canada (Whitman's biographer); and