The Harp of Zion

THE HARP of Zion sleepeth

In the shadow of the hill;

The child of promise weepeth

His weary exile still;

The ages of his sorrow

Flow on like Jordan’s stream;

He looketh for the morrow,

But cannot see its beam.

No beam of heaven discloseth

His father’s land of birth;

His footstep ne’er reposeth

In the nations of the earth;

To them he blindly holdeth

The lamp he cannot see;

While darkness deep enfoldeth

The homes of Galilee!

Yet not, O God, for ever

Thou’lt judge him in thy wrath;

But bid the darkness sever

Above his destined path;

In thy dread book is written

The period of his doom;

And the vale thy curse has smitten,

As a garden yet shall bloom.

Even now the destined ages

Are closing o’er the land;

And every sign presages

The morn again at hand;

The darkness swiftly weareth,

Light trembles from the shore;

Each wind of heaven prepareth

The wanderer to restore!