Abbeville Press

JERUSALEM.

BY WILLIAM SINCLAIR.

Thou City of the Lord whose name
The angelic host in wonder tells;
The halo of whose endless fame
All earthly splendor far excels-
To thee, from Judah's stable mean,
Arose the prince from Jesse's stem,
And since hath deathless glory been
With thee, Jerusalem!

What though thy temples, domes, and towers,
That man in strength and weakness made,
Lie, with their priests and regal powers,
In lowly dust and ashes laid!
The story of thy ancient time
Steals on us as it stole on them.
Thrice hallowed by the lyre sublime
Of thee, Jerusalem!

We see within thy porches, Paul
Uplift the arm, the voice command,
Whose heaven-taught zeal, whose earnest call
Could rouse or paralyse the land-
Though gold and pomp were his, and more,
For God he spurned the glittering gem,
And cast him prostrate all before
Thy gates, Jerusalem!

Even from the Mount of Olives now,
When morning lifts her shadowy veil,
And smiles o'er Moab's lofty brow,
And beauteous Jordan's stream and vale,
The ruins o'er the region spread,
May witness of thine ancient fame,
The very grave-yards of thy dead-
Of thee, Jerusalem!

The temple in its gorgeous state,
That in a dreadful ruin tell,
The fortress and the golden gate,
Alike the saddening story tell,
How he by Hinnom's vale was led
To Caiaphas, with mocking shame,
That glad redemption might be shed
O'er thee, Jerusalem!

Fast by the Virgin's tomb, and by
These spreading olives, bend the knee,
For here his pangs and sufferings sigh
Thrilled through thy caves, Gethsemane;
'Twas here, beneath the olive shade,
The man of many sorrows came,
With tears, as never mortal shed,
For thee, Jerusalem!

Around Siloam's ancient tombs
A solemn grandeur still must be;
And oh, what mystic meaning looms
By thy dread summits, Calvary!
The groaning earth, that felt the shock
Of mankind's crowning sin and shame,
Gave up the dead, laid bare the rock,
For fallen Jerusalem!

Kind woman's heart forgets thee not,
For Mary's image lights the scene;
And, casting back the inquiring thought
To what thou art, what thou hast been,
Ah! well may pilgrims heave the sigh,
When they remember all thy fame,
And shed the tear regretfully
O'er thee, Jerusalem!

For awful desolation lies,
In heavy shades, o'er thee and thine,
As 'twere to frown on sacrilege,
And tell thy story, Palestine;
But never was there darkness yet
Whereto His glory never came;
And guardian angels watch and wait
By thee, Jerusalem!

The lustre of thine ancient fame
Shall yet in brighter beams arise,
And heavenly measures to thy name
Rejoice the earth, make glad the skies;
And with thy gathered thousands, then
Oh! Love and Peace shall dwell with them,
And God's own glory shine again
O'er thee, Jerusalem!

—Blackwood's Magazine.