Classic Poem

O Zion, sing! O Isra'l, raise
The song with lifted voice!
O Salem! trebling high the praise,
With all the heart rejoice.

God from thy woes hath set thee free,
Thy foes swept to the door:
The Lord thy King's in midst of thee,
Thou shalt see ill no more.

To Salem then it shall be said,
“Fear not thy foes' attack:
To Zion, (for her builders' aid)
Let not thine hands he slack.”

The Lord thy God, in midst of thee,
Is mighty to deliver;
His mighty pow'r exert will he,
In saving thee for ever.

With joy he will o'er thee rejoice;
He in his love will rest:
His joy shall o'er thee with the voice
Of singing be express'd.

Of thee are these who mourn sincere
Th' assembly solemn gone;
The load of its reproach who bear
I'll gather them each one.

Lo! then, I will undo and rout
All that oppressed thee have;
I'll gather her that was driv'n out,
And her that halteth save.

To my reproached saints will I
Procure both praise and fame,
In ev'ry land, where formerly
They have been put to shame.

At gath'ring time I'll bring you home,
To make you a renown,
'Mong all that dwell on earth, to whom
You was before unknown.

'Tis done, when I before your eyes,
Ev'n I (J EHOVAH says),
Turn back all your captivities,
To set you for a praise.