Katharine Lee Bates - The Funeral of Phillips Brooks IV lyrics

The train wends outward, where new thousands wait Beneath an ampler temple-arch of sky, To speed with murmurous prayer and paean high The royal progress of that sombre state; On through the streets to sorrow consecrate; On where thy sons, hushed Harvard, gather nigh, To glean a blessing from the pa**ing by; And so to Auburn's unrestoring gate. Is this thy victory, d**h? Not thine, not thine, Howe'er to grief we grant her natural throes. He prophesied of life;we asked a sign, So little mortals know for what they pray, And by his open grave amid the snows A chastened city keeps her Easter day.