The Fall of Jerusalem

JERUSALEM! Jerusalem!

Thou art low; thou mighty one,

How is the brilliance of thy diadem,

How is the lustre of thy throne

Rent from thee, and thy sun of fame

Darken’d by the shadowy pinion

Of the Roman bird, whose sway

All the tribes of earth obey,

Crouching ’neath his dread dominion,

And the terrors of his name!

How is thy royal seat—whereon

Sat in days of yore

Lowly Jesse’s godlike son,

And the strength of Solomon,

In those rich and happy times

When the ships from Tarshish bore

Incense, and from Ophir’s land,

With silken sail and cedar oar,

Wafting to Judea’s strand

All the wealth of foreign climes—

How is thy royal seat o’erthrown!

Gone is all thy majesty;

Salem! Salem! City of kings,

Thou sittest desolate and lone,

Where once the glory of the Most High

Dwelt visibly enshrined between the wings

Of Cherubins, within whose bright embrace

The golden mercy-seat remain’d;

Land of Jehovah! view that sacred place

Abandon’d and profaned!