Classic Poem

“Beautiful thou for situation,
Mount Sion, joy of the whole earth”—
Here stood the bard; the invocation
Is to the harp that gave it birth,
An echo from three thousand years,
As thus—white crown of Sion's hill,
Seen through a mist of gathering tears—
Jerusalem, I greet thee still.

So rose thy battlements to them
Who saw the first Jerusalem:
So looked Jerusalem to Him,
Whose eyes, beholding it, were dim
With sudden tears, that hallow yet
Jerusalem from Olivet.

On yonder height, what visions rise!
What sees He, mortal passion worth?
Siege, slaughter, famine, agonies,
Years of forgotten joy and mirth,
And wearing, still, before the nations,
Thy sorrows like a diadem,
Thee, to the end of desolations,
Bound to His cross, Jerusalem.

And surely, yet, some mighty spell
Is on thee, captive stern and lone,
Waiting for exiled Israel,
And monarchs upon David's throne,
When Nineveh can no longer name
Her ruins; Tyre hears not the sea;
And Babylon is but the fame
Of Judah in captivity.
In pity and in pride, or shame,
For guilt and grandeur of the past,
The silent-footed ages came,
Unseen, and buried them at last.

And Sion, wherefore not for thee
Sweet peace, and end of tyranny?
Martyred, in hate, or veneration
Of the Cross and its oblation,
Scorned, mocked, or pitied, must thou be
Forever on thy Calvary,
Awaiting from a heathen race
Deliverance, or the stroke of grace?
As once, held up to heathen scorn,
Waited thy Christ, the virgin-born,
Whose birth-cry, heard in Bethlehem,
Shook Herod and Jerusalem!

Yet more in wonder than in pain
Thou hast waited—thou must wait
Until He comes to thee again,
Thy meek King comes to thee in state;
Like a monarch to his throne,
Banners waved, and trumpets blown;
Or warrior with his armor on,
Triumphant from his battle won
Against all human tyrannies,
Of race or creed all cruelties.

Messiah, Shiloh, Christ, is He
Whose spirit made the nations free,
And to that sacred spot of earth
Returning, where it had its birth,
Down-trod Jerusalem, in thee
Uplifts the chant of victory.
Judea's hills the pæan swell,
Immanuel! Immanuel!
God of God—Messiah's name
Flashes o'er the earth like flame;
Like a leaping tongue of fire
Minaret answering to spire,
Muezzin's cry, to Christian bells;
From East to West no infidels!

Lift up the chant, ye tents of Shem;
The King from royal Israel's stem,
In whom the nations should be blest,
To give His wandering people rest—
Who throng to touch His garment's hem—
Sits on thy throne, Jerusalem.