Rude Are the Tabernacles Now

RUDE are the tabernacles now,

Of Israel’s scattered band;

Still to the East the faithful bow,

And bless their fatherland.

Oh! save us, we beseech Thee, Lord!

Through every chance and change adored.

Oh, when we think of Palestine,

Whose consecrated dust

Once bore the hallowed ark and shrine

Of Judah’s only trust;

We mourn to mark the stranger there,

Who only mocks the Hebrew’s prayer.

Wake ye, who in the deadly sleep,

Of self-delusion lie!

Arise! or ye may live to weep

The time now passing by.

Save us, O Everlasting Lord!

Thy aid against remorse afford!

Let us re-open mercy’s law,

And in our bosoms lock

Precepts, that humble hearts shall draw

Towards salvation’s rock;

Praises to Heaven’s Supreme Lord,

Who did this sovereign gift accord!