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| WHEN I think of thee, O Zion, | |
| Glory of the Holy Land, | |
| Recollecting thee as city, | |
| Chartered by Jehovah’s hand; | |
| Thy gates of pearl, thy walls of gold, | 5 |
| By sage and prophet long foretold, | |
| I do wonder—I know not why | |
| How camest thou so low to lie? | |
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| When I think of thee, O Zion, | |
| Of thy renown, of thy great fame; | 10 |
| When my lips the word doth whisper | |
| Mentioning thy Holy Name, | |
| Name pronounced by many a tongue | |
| In reverent accents often sung; | |
| Name so cherished, tell me why | 15 |
| Recalling thee, my heart doth sigh. | |
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| “What if strangers do me honor, | |
| Carry my banner and call me free; | |
| What if Gentiles ‘Allelujah,’ | |
| ‘Amen’ shout and swear by me? | 20 |
| When those children I call mine | |
| List not, and ’bide across the line? | |
| This the reason I bitterly cry.” | |
| Thus sadly Zion doth reply. | |
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| “Can a mother forget her own, | 25 |
| Her only son, her bosom child? | |
| Will other children satisfy | |
| The craving for the first that smiled? | |
| Will ever multitude replace | |
| The laugh that lit the cradled face? | 30 |
| Never, never will Zion rest | |
| Until her own are in her nest.” | |
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