Classic Poem

Branch of Palestine, the story
Of thy birth and beauty, say
Of what hill and vale the glory
Were thy leaves and blossoms gay?

Thee, by Jordan's limpid fountains,
Did the Eastern sunbeam bless?
Thee, on Lebanon's great mountains,
Did the night-wind's love caress?

Salem's sons, with sorrow smitten,
As they twined thy leaves with care—
Sang they songs, in old times written?
Breathed they then a gentle prayer?

Is thy parent-palm yet living
Where the summer sun beats down,
Still to desert-travellers giving
Shade beneath her broad-leafed crown?

Or, thy faded palm-tree sighing,
Withered at thy parting, grieves,
While the thirsty dust is lying
Thickly on her yellow leaves?

Whose the reverent hand that bore thee
From thy country to this place?
Wept he often, bending o'er thee?
Have those hot tears left their trace?

Was he of God's host the flower,
Shone his cheek with rapture bright,
Worthy heaven, like thee, each hour
In his God's and comrades' sight?

Branch from Salem, guard unsleeping
Of the golden ikon fair,
Watch before the holiest keeping,
Thou art weighed with silent care!

Beauteous twilight, lamp-beams o'er thee;
Full of peace and comfort, shine;
Ark and cross repose before thee,
Symbols of a love divine!