'Thy brother shall rise again. I am the
Resurrection and the Life.' Behold the sil
ver tord having been loosed, the golden bowl
broken, we commit the body to the grave,
where dust shall return to the earth as it I
was and the spirit to God who gave it. Earth
to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking
for the resurrection and the life to come,
through our Lord Jesus Christ."
After the prayer came the most beautiful
part of the ritual, the bugle call, signifying
"Rest." In the hands of a skillful player the
sweet, mellow tones of the instrument drifted
away on the breeze until they were heard by
the sailors on the decks of the war
vessels. Beginning softly, the
tone gradually increased until it rose
clear as a bell on the high notes, and
then gradually diminished, like the sound of
an Alpine horn re-echoing among the moun
tains, until a few notes gently repeated at
the finish seemed to come from the clouds.
There was a long, silent pause, after the rit
ual was completed, as the post withdrew and
made way for the clergymen.
By this time it was after 5 o'clock. Bishop
Harris stood near the coffin with an open
prayer book, his white hair and striking fea
tures making a conspicuous feature in the
group, and began to read the Methodist Epis
copal burial service, "I am the resurrection
and the life.' As he began the sun came out
from behind the clouds and some considerate
person sheltered the bishop with an umbrella.
