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ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF

JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN.)

ROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,

I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to

Rome :

'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy

fall

Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home,
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;

I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in

vain.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;

While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away;
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!

But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign;
And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be,
Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.

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AND WEPT.

(Set to Music by J. NATHAN.)

E sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day

When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, oh her desolate daughters!

Were scatter'd all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river

Which roll'd on in freedom below,

They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be wither'd for ever,

Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

On the willow that harp is suspended,

Oh Salem! its sound should be free ; And the hour when thy glories were ended

But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me!

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And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd:

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