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| COME, Son of Israel, scorned in every land, | |
| Outcast and wandering,—come with mournful step | |
| Down to the dark vale of Jehoshaphat, | |
| And weigh the remnant of thy hoarded gold | |
| To buy thyself a grave among the bones | 5 |
| Of patriarchs and of prophets and of kings. | |
| It is a glorious place to take thy rest, | |
| Poor child of Abraham, mid those awful scenes, | |
| And sceptred monarchs, who, with Faith’s keen eye | |
| Piercing the midnight darkness that o’erhung | 10 |
| Messiah’s coming, gave their dying flesh | |
| Unto the worm, with such a lofty trust | |
| In the strong promise of the invisible. | |
| Here are damp gales to lull thy dreamless sleep, | |
| And murmuring recollections of that lyre | 15 |
| Whose passing sweetness bore King David’s prayer | |
| Up to the ear of Heaven, and of that strain | |
| With which the weeping prophet dirge-like sung | |
| Doomed Zion’s visioned woes. Yon rifted rocks, | |
| So faintly purpled by the westering sun, | 20 |
| Reveal the unguarded walls, the silent towers, | |
| Where, in her stricken pomp, Jerusalem | |
| Sleeps like a palsied princess, from whose head | |
| The diadem hath fallen. Still half concealed | |
| In the deep bosom of that burial-vale | 25 |
| A fitful torrent, ’neath its time-worn arch | |
| Hurries with hoarse tale mid the echoing tombs. | |
| Thou too art near, rude-featured Olivet; | |
So honored of my Saviour.
Tell me where | |
| His blessed knees thy flinty bosom prest, | 30 |
| When all night long his wrestling prayer went up, | |
| That I may pour my tear-wet orison | |
| Upon that sacred spot. Thou Lamb of God! | |
| Who for our sakes wert wounded unto death, | |
| Bid blinded Zion turn from Sinai’s fires | 35 |
| Her tortured foot, and from the thundering law | |
| Her terror-stricken ear rejoicing raise | |
| Unto the Gospel’s music. Bring again | |
| Thy scattered people who so long have borne | |
| A fearful punishment, so long wrung out | 40 |
| The bitter dregs of pale astonishment | |
| Into the wine-cup of the wondering earth. | |
| And O, to us, who from our being’s dawn | |
| Lisp out Salvation’s lessons, yet do stray | |
| Like erring sheep, to us thy Spirit give | 45 |
| That we may keep thy law and find thy fold, | |
| Ere in the desolate city of the dead | |
| We make our tenement, while Earth doth blot | |
| Our history from the record of mankind. | |
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