html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }THE Prophet standing by the fathers’ graves,
With soul o’erwhelmèd speaks, for solace craves:
“How can ye lie at rest, beloved ones,
While sharpened swords consume your captive sons?
Where now, O fathers, lurks your merit rare
In that vast wilderness of land laid bare?
They cry each one with lamentation sore
For children banished, sons that are no more;
They pray imploring with a cry for grace
To Him who dwelleth in the realms of space;
Ah! where is now God’s promise made of old:
‘I will not my first covenant withhold’?”
Changed is My glory,
From them departed;
They have not feared Me;
Dread have they known not;
From them I hid Me,
And still they turned not,
Nor to Me yearned they;
Shall I restrain Me,
Hearing them utter:
“Our God He is not”?
Then Father Abraham with bitter cry
Implored, a suppliant lowly, God on high:
“Ten times in vain for them great trials I bore,
For woe! mine eyes have seen destruction sore;
Ah! where is now Thy promise made of old:
‘Abram, thou shalt not fear, thy shield behold’?”
Far have they wandered,
Erred after strange gods,
And they have hewn them
Cisterns which hold not;
Shall I restrain Me,
When they regard not
My sacred mandates?
And thus did Isaac all his sorrow tell
Unto the Lord who high in Heav’n doth dwell:
“Wherefore was I appointed to be slain?
My seed is crushed and low in bondage lain;
Ah! where is now Thy promise made of old:
‘My covenant with Isaac I will hold’?”
Unto My prophet
Sorely rebellious,
They have polluted
My holy mountain:
Lo, I am weary
With ever hearing
Their cry which riseth
From the earth upwards;
Shall I restrain Me,
Seeing the slaughter
Of Zechariah?
And then spake he with learning deep endowed,
His form with shame and bitter sorrow bowed:
“My little ones I reared with holy care,
How are they caught within the fatal snare!
Ah! dearly have I paid a thousandfold
My erring children’s debt of guilt untold.”
Thus spake the faithful shepherd in his woe,
Covered with ashes and in dust laid low:
“My tender sheep in genial shelter reared,
Lo! how are they before their season sheared!
Ah! where is now Thy promise made of old:
‘There shall not be one widowed in the fold’?”
With grievous voices all the air is rent;
With sobs doth Leah to her despair give vent,
And Rachel weeping for her children dead,
Zilpah with face of anguish, heart of dread,
And Bilhah grieving for the evil day,
Her hands to God uplifted in dismay.
Turn, O ye perfect ones,
Unto your rest again;
I will fulfil for you
All that your hearts desire:
Down unto Babylon
With you My Presence went;
Surely will I return
Your sons’ captivity.