It is in the pathway of Kings, for not a Monarch can ever again go up to the altar to be crowned but must step over the resting place of the man who died that his kingdom might endure. Four ladies sat apart and rose to greet this great Unknown, Queen Mary and Queen Alexandra of England, Queen Maud of Denmark, and Queen Victoria of Spain, and behind them were grouped Princess Mary and other women of Royal blood. Waiting, too, near his grave, were men of the Warrior's own kind. He passed through ranks of soldiers, sailors, airmen and civilians in mufti, strangely mixed; Captains stood next to seamen. Colonels by enlisted men, for all wore the Victoria Cross, and that earned them the right to attend. The mournful strains of the Croft Purcell setting of the funeral sentences were chanted, unaccompanied, as the procession passed through the Abbey, and as the grave was reached, the King, as the chief mourner, stepped to its head. Behind him stood the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Connaught and other members of the Royal family, and ranked in the rear were Lloyd George and Asquith, the two war Premiers, and the members of their Cabinets, three or four Princes from India and a score or more of the leaders of British life. The pall-bearers, chiefs of the army and navy, Haig, French, Beatty and Jackson among them, took their stand on either side of the coffin, and the service began. It was as simple as in any village church in the land. The Twenty-third Psalm, "The Lord is my Shepherd," was sung to the familiar chant, and then came the account read by the Dean from Revelations of the "great multitude, which no man could number, out of every nation, and of all tribes, and of all peoples and tongues, standing before the Throne." As the coffin was lowered into the grave, "Lead, Kindly Light," was sung, and then came the committal prayer. As the Dean spoke solemnly, "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the King, as the chief mourner, stepped forward and from a silver bowl sprinkled the coffin with soil brought from France. A few more prayers, "Abide With Me" and Kipling's "Recessional" concluded the service, and as the words of blessing died away, from far up among the pillared arches came a whisper of sound. It grew and grew, and it seemed that regiments and then divisions and armies of men were on the march. The whole Cathedral was filled with the murmur of their footfalls until they passed and the sound grew faint in the distance. It was the roll of drums, and seemed to symbolize that host of glorious dead which has left one Unknown Warrior forever on guard at the entrance to England's old Abbey. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Soul of a Nation, by Phillip Gibbs