Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/28

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
4
Jerusalem.
Bend, with a sigh, o'er every relic near,
And pay each shrine the tribute of a tear.
Where o'er the waste, in rude disorder thrown,
Neglected lie yon crumbling heaps of stone,
O who (sad change!) the blest abode could tell,
Where God's own glory once vouchsafed to dwell?
Yet fancy still the ruined fane can raise
Bright with the glories of departed days;
Swift to the view its scatter'd wealth restore,
And bid its vanished splendors beam once more.
Ev'n as I gaze,[1] the sudden spires ascend,
With graceful sweep the long-row'd arches bend;
Aspiring shafts the heaving dome sustain,
And lift the growing fabric from the plain.
See, as it rises, all the world combine
Its various gifts to deck the work divine:
Nature no more her secret treasures hides,
The mine uncloses, and the deep divides.
Mild o'er the wave the fav'ring breezes play,
And waft the Tyrian purple on its way.
Her purest marble rocky Paros lends,
Her sweetest odours soft Idumè blends;
On Carmel's heights the stately cedar falls,
And Ophir glistens on the polish'd walls.