Zion

LAND of the cedar and palm,

Land of the olive and myrtle,

Breathing of Gilead’s balm

Over fragrant fields and fertile,

From the sunset shore of the sea

Greeting of peace to thee!

Though the din of strange cities resound

In our ears, forget we can never

Those piercing, lingering sounds

Or David’s lyre, that ever

To Zion’s Redeemer upraise

Their pæan of deathless praise.

And we that long for that sunny field,

The abode of our youth, where God’s spirit

First to mortals revealed

Those truths that we still inherit,

Field fertile with fruitage of glory

And haunted by memories hoary.

Happy are they that sow

Thy seed and reap of their sowing!

Happy! they never shall know

The exile’s sorrow, not knowing

The infinite heart-ache and pain

Of the toilers that toil in vain.

From the land of our sojourning

Zion, to thee, nor burn

With a fever or fretful yearning

In the patience of hope we toil

Again to possess thy soil.

Land of the cedar and palm,

Land of the olive and myrtle,

Breathing Gilead’s balm

Over fragrant fields and fertile,

From the sunset shore of the sea

In God’s time we shall come to thee.