Explore "Phillips Brooks" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
This is the white winter day of his burial. / Time has set here of his toiling the span / Earthward, naught else. Cheer him out through the portal, / Heart-beat of Boston, our utmost in man!
Out in the broad open sun be his funeral, / Under the blue for the city to see. / Over the grieving crowd mourn for him, bugle! / Churches are narrow to hold such as he.