 | Sacra Poesis |  |
116
JERUSALEM RESTORED.
Wake, Israel, wake!—review thy former fame,The ancient splendour of thy sacred name:
Awake!—too long above thy scorned head
Its whelming billows hath oblivion spread.
Thou shalt not shrink beneath the Gentiles' scorn,
No longer a polluted temple mourn,
No longer groan beneath oppression's rod,
But joyous reign, acknowledg'd by thy God!
Dread then no more the wide world's haughty frown,
Thyself shall wield the sceptre,—wear the crown.
Zion shall soon deride her vanquish'd foes,
Her desert land shall blossom as the rose,—
And to her King, her everlasting Lord,
All earth shall see Jerusalem restor'd!
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