106
SONGS OF EXILE
The Temple standing, pride of Israel's race,
Hath resting there no sacred Ark of Gold;
God's Glory filleth not the Holy Place
As once of old.
Surely the glory of the House is o'er;
Gone is the Presence, silent is the Voice;—
They who remember that which is no more,
Can they rejoice?
To him, so musing, sudden rapture came;
The axe fell from his trembling hand's control;
A fire leapt upward, and a burning flame
Woke in his soul.
His eyes had seen; his soul spoke; he had gazed
Upon one stone of that smooth marble plain:—
Lo! from its place it surely had been raised,
And set again.
