 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
254
THE DESOLATION OF JERUSALEM.
They have crushed my pride! They have trampled me down in the dust!
Whither, O God, shall I flee?
To whom shall I turn?—in whom shall I put my trust?
In whom, O Jehovah, but Thee?
Whither, O God, shall I flee?
To whom shall I turn?—in whom shall I put my trust?
In whom, O Jehovah, but Thee?
For Famine and Pestilence enter through all my gates,
And dark Death stalks in the street,
And Murder at every corner skulks and waits,
And Justice has bloody feet!
And dark Death stalks in the street,
And Murder at every corner skulks and waits,
And Justice has bloody feet!
Thou hast trodden me down, and all I have loved is fled;
I have moaned till my soul is sore,
I have wept till my eyes are coals, and my heart is dead;
'T is useless to crush me more.
I have moaned till my soul is sore,
I have wept till my eyes are coals, and my heart is dead;
'T is useless to crush me more.
They have plucked the babe from my breast; the child in his play,
While he laughed, they have stricken down;
The grace of woman, and manhood's strength, and stay—
And age with its hoary crown.
While he laughed, they have stricken down;
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And age with its hoary crown.
I have sinned—I deserve my Fate—yet hear me, O Lord!
Oh forgive them not who have set
Their feet on our necks, and Thy name and Thy law abhorred—
Whose hands with our blood are wet.
Oh forgive them not who have set
Their feet on our necks, and Thy name and Thy law abhorred—
Whose hands with our blood are wet.
Do unto them, O God, as they unto me and mine!
Crush them, and beat them down,
Like a tempest that swoops o'er the corn, and flays the vine
With its darkening thunder-frown.
Crush them, and beat them down,
Like a tempest that swoops o'er the corn, and flays the vine
With its darkening thunder-frown.
Mercy I do not demand for myself—and for them
No mercy—but justice, O Lord!
Let Thy swift sharp vengeance destroy them root and stem
With the lightning of its sword.
No mercy—but justice, O Lord!
Let Thy swift sharp vengeance destroy them root and stem
With the lightning of its sword.
I have sinned! I have sinned! Jehovah, Thou hidest Thy face;
But, prostrate here in the dust,
I adore Thee, the Holy One. Lift me in my disgrace,
Oh help me! in Thee I trust.
But, prostrate here in the dust,
I adore Thee, the Holy One. Lift me in my disgrace,
Oh help me! in Thee I trust.
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The floods have all gone over me; nothing now
Can torture me more or worse;
Thy thunder hath crushed me flat, and Thine awful brow
Hath frowned, and I feel Thy curse.
Can torture me more or worse;
Thy thunder hath crushed me flat, and Thine awful brow
Hath frowned, and I feel Thy curse.
Not humbled by them, but quivering under the weight
Of Thy tremendous hand;
But Thou who hast punished wilt pardon! Thy pity is great!
Oh raise up this desolate land!
Of Thy tremendous hand;
But Thou who hast punished wilt pardon! Thy pity is great!
Oh raise up this desolate land!
I can wait, I can suffer, O Lord, for Thy law is just,
Though terrible is Thy wrath;
But this people is Thine, O Lord; in Thy promise they trust,
To guide them and show them the path.
Though terrible is Thy wrath;
But this people is Thine, O Lord; in Thy promise they trust,
To guide them and show them the path.
Thou shalt lift them at last when the debt of their sins is paid,
All paid to the uttermost groat;
And the balance shall turn in which their sins have been weighed,
And the collar be loosed from their throat.
All paid to the uttermost groat;
And the balance shall turn in which their sins have been weighed,
And the collar be loosed from their throat.
Years shall go by. They shall creep, they shall cringe, they shall crawl,
Abject in the eyes of men;
Loved by none, feared by few, but scorned and derided by all—
And then, O Jehovah, and then
Abject in the eyes of men;
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And then, O Jehovah, and then
Thy voice shall be heard,—“Ye have drunk of the bitter cup,
Ye have drained it and drunk it down;
Come back, O my people, come back; I will lift you up,
And place on your heads the crown.
Ye have drained it and drunk it down;
Come back, O my people, come back; I will lift you up,
And place on your heads the crown.
“And joy shall again be yours, and triumph shall peal
And ring through your laughing ways;
And your strength shall be mine, and your battle be mine, and your steel,
And your glory be mine, and your praise.”
And ring through your laughing ways;
And your strength shall be mine, and your battle be mine, and your steel,
And your glory be mine, and your praise.”
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |