Verse > Anthologies > Joseph Friedlander, comp. > The Standard Book of Jewish Verse
Joseph Friedlander, comp.  The Standard Book of Jewish Verse.  1917.
The Jewish Pilgrim
By Frances Browne
ARE these the ancient holy hills
  Where angels walked of old?
Is this the land our story fills
  With glory not yet cold?
For I have passed by many a shrine        5
  O’er many a land and sea;
But still, oh! promised Palestine,
  My dreams have been of thee.
I see thy mountain cedar green,
  Thy valleys fresh and fair,        10
With summers bright as they have been
  When Israel’s home was there.
Tho’ o’er thee sword and time have passed,
  And cross and crescent shone,
And heavily the chain has pressed        15
  Oh! they are still our own.
Thine are the wandering race that go
  Unblest through every land,
Whose blood hath stained the polar snow,
  And quench’d the desert sand.        20
And thine the home of hearts that turn
  From all earth’s shrines to thee
With their lone faith for ages born
  In sleepless memory.
For throngs have fallen, nations gone        25
  Before the march of time,
And where the ocean rolled alone
  Are forests in their prime.
Since gentile ploughshares marr’d the brow
  Of Zion’s holy hill        30
Where are the Roman eagles now?
  Yet Judah wanders still.
And hath she wandered thus in vain
  A pilgrim of the past?
No! long deferred her hope hath been        35
  But it shall come at last.
For in her wastes a voice I hear,
  As from a prophet’s urn,
It bids the nations build not there
  For Jacob shall return.        40
Oh! lost and loved Jerusalem
  Thy pilgrim may not stay
To see the glad earth’s harvest home
  In thy redeeming day.
But now resigned in faith and trust        45
  I seek a nameless tomb;
At least beneath thy hallowed dust
  Oh! give the wanderer room.

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