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Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.

By Louis Federleicht

Zion

ON lovely dwellings fall the fervid rays,

The naked rocks lift high their heads in air,

Dust-covered stones fling back the noon-day’s glare

And strange old ruins tell of ancient days.

A motley throng creeps through the narrow ways,

Pilgrims from far off lands whose faces bear

The look that tells of by-gone toil and care,

Of weary journeys and of long delays.

What magic is there in this torrid clime?

What fascination in these hoary walls?

What charm dwells here that sovereignly calls

To hearts of men throughout the reach of time,

Heedless of earthly gain, yet draws the soul

Through want and hardship, to what mighty goal?

This was the ancient home of Israel;

Here lived our fathers fearless and free;

Here lives a glory and a memory;

And we His chosen ones, once more shall dwell,

Majestic, jubilant, invincible,

In this, our heritage; our eyes shall see

The long-ago that is again to be;

The peace that has no ending shall dispel

The dreaming and the doubt, the hopes, the fears.

With love and longing we await that day

Whose dawn beholds the yearning of the years

Fulfilled at last, and, while we waiting, pray,

A newer life in Mount Moriah wakes,

All over Olivet the morning breaks.