Israel

SHE stands among the nations of the earth,

Unique, a figure of pathetic grace;

God’s chosen daughter of the human race,

Destined to woe and grandeur from her birth.

She sees her children scattered, doomed to dearth,

And in her dusky eyes there shines the trace

Of tears, that wet her pale prophetic face,

Knowing her people’s pristine power and worth.

Oh, stricken Mother, unto whom we owe

The life and light that spring from one pure fount,

Whence all our laws and inspirations flow;

Not vainly have ye shed your blood and tears,

Withstanding scorn and hatred all these years—

He guards thee still, Who spoke from Sinai’s Mount!