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A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone!


More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scattered race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth,

It will not live in other earth.


But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die ;

And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,

And Mockery sits on Salem's throne. OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.


OH! WEEP FOR THOSE that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;

Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ;

Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the Godless


And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet ?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ?


Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,

How shall ye flee away and be at rest!

The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,

Mankind their Country-Israel but the grave!

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ON JORDAN'S BANKS the Arabs' camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-udorer bows on Sinai's steep
Yet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep:

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