Jerusalem

JERUS’LEM! Jerus’lem! thy glories have fled,

Thy Kings wander crownless, pale ghosts of the past;

Thy beauty, thy valor, thy might, are all dead;

But Hope is still left thee—’tis all that thou hast!

Though the sword of the warrior’s tarnished with rust,

And the war-steed lies bleeding along the red earth;

Though thy towers have crumbled long since into dust,

And the songs of the Priests but in sorrow have birth;

Yet the Great God of Heaven will brighten the stain,

And breathe in the war-horse, strength, power, and might;

Thy ramparts, Oh Salem! shall tower again,

And the Priests’ Holy Temple arise in thy sight.

Then, Queen of the East! let thy tears cease to flow—

Thy God liveth ever; He is mighty to save;

The diadem yet shall encircle thy brow,

When those who now rule, shall have passed in the grave.

For the Future hath gladness for thee in its womb,

And the harp will again sound thy triumph and praise;

Nor sorrow, nor blight, will e’er shadow with gloom,

The Sun of thy Glory, the Light of thy Days.

And nations will bow, as they did once before,

And quake in thy presence with dread and alarm;

For strong are the people, who rest them secure

In the Faith of His word, and the Might of His arm.