Classic Poem

How doth the city bide alone
That lately rang with multitudes,
A queen among the gentile broods,
A princess glorious on her throne!

She weepeth sorely through the night,
Her tears disguise her smitten face;
She wins no comforting nor grace
From those who called her their delight.

Her foes pursued her flying tread
And caught her 'mid the narrow ways;
She bowed her head in pale amaze;
In alien lands she bows her head.

The hallowed streets of Zion moan
Because her solemn feasts are spent;
Her gates are void, her towers rent,
Her virgins weep, her prophets groan.

Because her sins were manifold
Her children bear the heathen's chain,
Her adversaries thrive amain,
Her spoilers riot uncontrolled.