The mourners gathered close about the grave.

“Death, ain’t yuh gots no shame?” called a clear, high, soprano voice; and immediately the mortal embodiment of infinite sorrow broke and swayed about the grave in the funeral chant. Three times the line swung its curve of song, shrill, keen, agonizing; then it fell away to a heart-wrenching minor on the burden:

When the singing ceased, the burial service commenced, the preacher extemporizing fluently. Taking his rhythm from the hymn, he poured his words along its interminable reiteration until the cumulative effect rocked the entire company.

The final moment of the ritual arrived. The lid was removed from the casket, and the mourners were formed into line to pass and look upon the face of the dead. A very old, bent negress went first. She stooped, then suddenly, with a shriek of anguish, cast herself beside the coffin.{31}

{31}

“Tell Peter tuh hold de do’ open fuh me. I’s comin’ soon!” she cried.

“Yes, Gawd, goin’ soon,” responded a voice in the crowd. Others pressed about the grave, and the air was stabbed by scream on scream. Grief spent itself freely, terrifyingly.

Slowly the clashing sounds merged into the regular measure of a spiritual. Beautiful and poignant it rose, swelling out above the sounds of falling earth as the grave was filled:

“What yuh goin’ ter do when yuh

come out de wilderness,

Come out de wilderness,

Come out de wilderness;

What yuh goin’ ter do when yuh

come out de wilderness

Leanin’ on my Lord.

“Leanin’ on my Lord,

Leanin’ on my Lord,

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