Two of these, Mr. Waller and Dr. Kirk, along with Dr. Stewart, who was
also present, had assisted twelve years before at the funeral of Mrs.
Livingstone at Shupanga. Dr. Moffat, too, was there, full of sorrowful
admiration. Amid a service which was emphatically impressive
throughout, the simple words of the hymn, sung to the tune of Tallis,
were peculiarly touching:

"O God of Bethel! by whose hand
Thy people still are fed,
Who through this weary pilgrimage
Hast all our fathers led."

The black slab that now marks the resting-place of Livingstone bears
this inscription:

BROUGHT BY FAITHFUL HANDS
OVER LAND AND SEA,

HERE RESTS

DAVID LIVINGSTONE,

MISSIONARY, TRAVELER, PHILANTHROPIST,

BORN MARCH 19, 1813,
AT BLANTYRE, LANARKSHIRE.

DIED MAY 4,[79] 1873,
AT CHITAMBO'S VILLAGE, ILALA.

[Footnote 79: In the _Last Journals_ the date is 1st May; on
the stone, 4th May. The attendants could not quite
determine the day.]

For thirty years his life was spent in an unwearied effort to evangelize
the native races, to explore the undiscovered secrets,
and abolish the desolating slave-trade of Central Africa,
and where, with his last words he wrote:
"All I can say in my solitude is, may Heaven's rich blessing
come down on every one--American, English, Turk--
who will help to heal this open sore of the world."

Along the right border of the stone are the words:

TANTUS AMOR VERI, NIHIL EST QUOD NOSCERE MALIM
QUAM FLUVII CAUSAS PER SAECULA TANTA LATEHTES.

And along the left border:

OTHER SHEEP I HAVE WHICH ARE NOT OF THIS FOLD,
THEM ALSO I MUST BRING, AND THEY SHALL HEAR MY VOICE.

On the 25th June, 1868, not far from the northern border of that lake
Bangweolo on whose southern shore he passed away, Dr. Livingstone came
on a grave in a forest. He says of it:

"It was a little rounded mound, as if the occupant sat in it in the
usual native way; it was strewed over with flour, and a number of the
large blue beads put on it; a little path showed that it had visitors.
This is the sort of grave I should prefer: to be in the still, still
forest, and no hand ever disturb my bones. The graves at home always
seemed to me to be miserable, especially those in the cold, damp clay,
and without elbow-room; but I have nothing to do but wait till He who is
over all decides where