On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus

FROM the last hill that looks on the once holy dome,

I beheld thee, O Sion, when render’d to Rome;

’Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall

Flash’d back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

I look’d for thy temple, I look’d for my home,

And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;

I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,

And the fast-fetter’d hands that made vengeance in vain.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed

Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;

While I stood on the height and beheld the decline

Of the rays from the mountains that shone on thy shrine.

And now on the mountain I stood on that day,

But I mark’d not the twilight beam melting away!

Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,

And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror’s head!

But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane

The shrine where Jehovah disdain’d not to reign;

And scatter’d and scorn’d as thy people may be,

Our worship, O Father! is only for Thee.