 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
The Promise.
O elders of a wicked land,
O people born in evil coasts,
I weary, saith the Lord of Hosts,
Of incense waved by sinner's hand.
O people born in evil coasts,
I weary, saith the Lord of Hosts,
Of incense waved by sinner's hand.
I weary of the blood of beasts,
The blackened altars crowned with flame,
The loud hosannas to my name,
The sabbaths, moons and stated feasts.
The blackened altars crowned with flame,
The loud hosannas to my name,
The sabbaths, moons and stated feasts.
Your lifted hands I hold abhorred,
So full are they of blood and snares;
Yea, when ye make your many prayers,
I will not hear them, saith the Lord.
So full are they of blood and snares;
Yea, when ye make your many prayers,
I will not hear them, saith the Lord.
Behold, your land is desolate,
Your cities crumbled, wall and tower;
The stranger sits within your bower
And eats the fruit your fathers ate.
Your cities crumbled, wall and tower;
The stranger sits within your bower
And eats the fruit your fathers ate.
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Go wash you; make you white as snow;
Forsake your refuges of lies;
Deal justly; hear the widow's cries;
Console the orphan in his woe.
Forsake your refuges of lies;
Deal justly; hear the widow's cries;
Console the orphan in his woe.
Repent; tread softly; walk in fears;
Pray meekly in your secret place;
Seek naught beside your Maker's grace;
And seek that carefully with tears.
Pray meekly in your secret place;
Seek naught beside your Maker's grace;
And seek that carefully with tears.
So shall your princes rule anew,
Your counsellors arise from death;
I promise it, Jehovah saith,
And all my promises are true.
Your counsellors arise from death;
I promise it, Jehovah saith,
And all my promises are true.
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |