 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
20
PALESTINE.
Bright inspiration! shadowing my heart
Like a sweet dream of beauty—could I see
Tabor and Carmel ere I hence depart,
And tread the quiet vales of Galilee,
And look from Hermon, with its dew and flowers,
Upon the broken walls and mossy towers
O'er which the Son of man in sadness wept,
The dearest promise of my life were kept.
Like a sweet dream of beauty—could I see
Tabor and Carmel ere I hence depart,
And tread the quiet vales of Galilee,
And look from Hermon, with its dew and flowers,
Upon the broken walls and mossy towers
O'er which the Son of man in sadness wept,
The dearest promise of my life were kept.
Alas! the beauteous cities, crowned with flowers,
And robed with royalty! no more in thee,
Fretted with golden pinnacles and towers,
They sit in haughty beauty by the sea:
Shadows of rocks, precipitate and dark,
Rest still and heavy where they found a grave;
There glides no more the humble fisher's bark,
And the wild heron drinks not of the wave.
And robed with royalty! no more in thee,
Fretted with golden pinnacles and towers,
They sit in haughty beauty by the sea:
Shadows of rocks, precipitate and dark,
Rest still and heavy where they found a grave;
There glides no more the humble fisher's bark,
And the wild heron drinks not of the wave.
But still the silvery willows fringe the rills,
Judea's shepherd watches still his fold;
And round about Jerusalem the hills
Stand in their solemn grandeur as of old;
And Sharon's roses still as sweetly bloom
As when the apostles, in the days gone by,
Rolled back the shadows from the dreary tomb,
And brought to light life's immortality.
Judea's shepherd watches still his fold;
And round about Jerusalem the hills
Stand in their solemn grandeur as of old;
And Sharon's roses still as sweetly bloom
As when the apostles, in the days gone by,
Rolled back the shadows from the dreary tomb,
And brought to light life's immortality.
The East has laid down many a beauteous bride
In the dim silence of the sepulchre,
Whose names are shrined in story, but beside
There lives no sign to tell they ever were.
The imperial fortresses of old renown—
Rome, Carthage, Thebes—alas! where are they now?
In the dim distance lost and crumbled down;
The glory that was of them, from her brow
Took off the wreath in centuries gone by,
And walked the Path of Shadows silently.
In the dim silence of the sepulchre,
Whose names are shrined in story, but beside
There lives no sign to tell they ever were.
The imperial fortresses of old renown—
Rome, Carthage, Thebes—alas! where are they now?
In the dim distance lost and crumbled down;
The glory that was of them, from her brow
Took off the wreath in centuries gone by,
And walked the Path of Shadows silently.
But, Palestine! what hopes are born of thee—
I cannot paint their beauty—hopes that rise,
Linking this perishing mortality
To the bright, deathless glories of the skies!
There the sweet Babe of Bethlehem was born—
Love's mission finished there in Calvary's gloom,
There blazed the glories of the rising morn,
And Death lay gasping there at Jesus' tomb!
I cannot paint their beauty—hopes that rise,
21
To the bright, deathless glories of the skies!
There the sweet Babe of Bethlehem was born—
Love's mission finished there in Calvary's gloom,
There blazed the glories of the rising morn,
And Death lay gasping there at Jesus' tomb!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |