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| HAPPY he who saw of old | |
| The high priest, with gems and gold | |
| All adorned from crown to hem, | |
| Tread thy courts, Jerusalem, | |
| Till he reached the sacred place | 5 |
| Where the Lord’s especial grace | |
| Ever dwelt, the centre of the whole. | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw at last the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 10 |
| |
| Happy he that day who saw | |
| How, with reverence and awe | |
| And with sanctity of mien, | |
| Spoke the priest: “Ye shall be clean | |
| From your sins before the Lord.” | 15 |
| Echoed long the holy word, | |
| While around the fragrant incense stole. | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw at last the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 20 |
| |
| Happy he who saw the crowd, | |
| That in adoration bowed, | |
| As they heard the priest proclaim: | |
| “One, Ineffable, the Name,” | |
| And they answered, “Blessed be | 25 |
| God the Lord eternally, | |
| He whom all created worlds extol.” | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw at last the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 30 |
| |
| Happy he who saw the priest | |
| Turning toward the shining East, | |
| And, with solemn gladness thrilled, | |
| Read the doctrine that distilled | |
| As the dew upon the plain, | 35 |
| As the showers of gentle rain, | |
| While he raised on high the sacred scroll. | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw at last the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 40 |
| |
| Happy he who saw the walls | |
| Of the temple’s radiant halls, | |
| Where the golden cherubim | |
| Hide the ark’s recesses dim, | |
| Heard the singer’s choral song, | 45 |
| Saw the Levites’ moving throng, | |
| Saw the golden censer and the bowl. | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw at last the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 50 |
| |
| Ever thus the burden rang | |
| Of the pious songs they sang. | |
| All the glories past and gone | |
| Israel once did gaze upon, | |
| Glories of the sacred fane, | 55 |
| Which they mourned and mourned again, | |
| With a bitterness beyond control. | |
| Happy he whose eyes | |
| Saw (they said) the cloud of glory rise, | |
| But to hear of it afflicts our soul. | 60 |
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