A DEAD ROSE.
11
And from thy summit, pure and wise
His words like balm distilled;
And Jew, and scribe, and Pharisee
With awe of Him were filled.
His words like balm distilled;
And Jew, and scribe, and Pharisee
With awe of Him were filled.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
I've wandered o'er the sea,
And passed by many a classic shrine,
Dreaming the while of thee.
And resting 'neath this fig-tree's shade,
I gaze on all thy dearth;
But still, Jerusalem, thou art
The holiest spot on earth!
I've wandered o'er the sea,
And passed by many a classic shrine,
Dreaming the while of thee.
And resting 'neath this fig-tree's shade,
I gaze on all thy dearth;
But still, Jerusalem, thou art
The holiest spot on earth!
A DEAD ROSE.
Three years ago to-night,—a summer night,
With lines of purple in the western sky,
The sea-waves rolling up the beach foam white,
And in the distance a ship sailing by,
A crescent moon pallid behind gray clouds,—
Oh, why do young moons pale and sunsets die?—
With lines of purple in the western sky,
The sea-waves rolling up the beach foam white,
And in the distance a ship sailing by,
A crescent moon pallid behind gray clouds,—
Oh, why do young moons pale and sunsets die?—
We drifted on beyond the rocky isles
That guard the broadening outlet of the bay,
And watched the billows, mighty piles on piles,
As, bounding in, they drenched us with their spray;
And all the land, and all the starry sky,
In perfect peace and silence tranced lay.
That guard the broadening outlet of the bay,
And watched the billows, mighty piles on piles,
As, bounding in, they drenched us with their spray;
And all the land, and all the starry sky,
In perfect peace and silence tranced lay.
