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Then instantly, as if some swift hand drew
A curtain back, the Darkness of the Night
Was cloven, and thronging in the starry light
New legions of the ghostly Dead appear'd
And ever, as the Judgment Seat they near'd,
They shriek'd ‘Messiah;’ and with lips apart
Startled as if a knife had prick'd His heart,
That pale Jew listen'd and His wan face turn'd
To those who cried; but when those hosts discern'd
His human lineaments they shriek'd anew:
‘One God we worship, and this Man we slew,
Seeing he took the Holy Name in vain!
And since that hour that he was justly slain,
His hate hath followed us from place to place!
Wherefore, O Judge, we, children of his race,
Scorn'd, tortured, shamed, defamed, defiled, and driven
Outcast from every gate of Earth or Heaven,
Still martyr'd living and still dishonour'd dead,
Demand thy wrath and judgment on his head,
Jesus the Jew, not Christ, but Antichrist!’

Dumb as a lamb brought to be sacrificed,
Helpless and bound, He listen'd—still with gaze
Fix'd on the starry azure's pathless ways,
But down His cheeks, furrow'd with weary years,
Slowly and softly fell the piteous tears.

Like hordes of wolves, fierce, foul, and famishing,
That round some lonely Traveller shriek and spring,
Black'ning the snows around his lonely path,
Rending each other in their hungry wrath,
The children of the Ghetto, gathering there,
His brethren, fed their eyes on His despair
And spat their hate upon Him; and the snow
Was sooted with these nameless shapes of woe;
But hither and thither 'mid the ravening horde
Moved Rabbis who lookt upward and adored
The Lord of Hosts, with hoary Saints and Seers,
And dark-eyed Maids who sang with sobs and tears
Of God's bright City overthrown in shame,
Jerusalem the golden!—and at the Name
The woeful throngs who roll'd in tumult by
Rent robes, and wail'd, and echoed back the cry
‘Jerusalem! Jerusalem!’—and lo!
From 'midst the multitudinous ebb and flow
That ever came and went, there did arise
A Prophet, with white beard and burning eyes,
Saying, ‘Holy, Holy still, thy Name shall be,
Jerusalem, thro' God's Eternity!
For tho' thy glory hath fallen, and thy gate
Lies broken, and thy streets are desolate,
And on thy head ashes and dust are flung,
And in thy folds the wolf suckles her young,
Thou shalt arise in splendour and in pride,
And we, thy people, shall be justified;
Our tents are scattered, and our robes are riven,
Like chaff before the blast our race hath driven
In darkness, ever homeless, thro' the lands,
But never another City by our hands
Hath been upbuilded, since where'er we roam
Thou, City of God, art still our Hope and Home!
And tho' with bitterest tears our eyes are dim,
We hearken ever for the call of Him
Who thundered upon Sinai! . . . In thy breast
This Snake who stings thee still doth make his nest!
This Son who smote thee, Mother, still doth lie
Within thine arms; but o'er thee, yonder on high,
Watches the God of Jacob! Patience yet!
Tho' for a little space thy sun hath set,
As red as blood it shall arise again
For vengeance, and the God of Wrath shall reign,
With thee, his Bride long chosen, and over us,
Thy children!’

Thronging multitudinous,
With one great voice they answered: ‘Holy be
Thy Name, Jerusalem, thro' Eternity!’
And now their wailings sobb'd themselves to calm,
While to a sound of harps and lutes the psalm
Of Israël rose to Heaven—‘Holy be
Thy Name, Jerusalem, thro' Eternity!’