Classic Poem

The glory of the land hath ceased
And scornful hands bring forth the bones
Of those who sate on Judah's thrones,
The bones of noble, seer and priest;

To scatter them before the host
Of shining heaven, the sun of noon,
The multitude of stars, the moon,
The senseless gods they worshipped most;

And none shall see with pity; none
Shall hide them from the prowling brute;
But they shall lie beneath the foot
Without a covering or stone;

While those who lurk in mountain caves,
The remnant of an evil tribe,
Lean forth with bitter scowl and gibe,
Curse God and men, and pray for graves.