Classic Poem

Vail, Zion, vail thy mourning head,
Let sacred clouds descending weep;
Mourn, holy hill, thy shepherd dead,
Whose voice no more shall charm thy sheep!
Thou, city of the Lord, deplore
A watchman vanish'd from thy walls!
While nightly tempests round thee roar,
No more thy faithful servant calls.
Temple of God! let chants of wo
Through all thy hallowed courts be borne;
A polished shaft in dust lies low,
And round the sister columns mourn.
Departed saint! how sweet the strain
The spirit taught thy lips to pour!
How dear the echoes which remain
When now the music breathes no more!
Around those lips, as in the shade
Where infant Plato lay reclin'd,
Hymettian bees prophetic play'd,
And left their choicest store behind:
But than their treasures far more sweet,
Though with them inspiration clung,
With unction of the Paraclete,
Descending seraphs tipp'd thy tongue!
" Proclaim, " the Eternal Spirit said,
" Glad tidings to the meek in heart,
Bind up the wounds that earth has made,
And bid the enfranchis'd slave depart.
Tell the poor captive, chain'd by sin,
" Thy bars are burst, and thou art free!
The year of glory shall begin,
The spring of beauty dawns for thee!"
Bind those who mourn on Zion's steep,
Swathed in such garb as grief should be,
As o'er the sins of men they weep,
Look through their tears to Calvary.
For them the oil of joy shall flow,
Immortal beauty shall be theirs,
And, for the livery sad of wo,
The spotless robe that angel wears.
In ancient wastes, where moss o'erspreads
The temples once devote to God,
And weeds, luxuriant, wave their heads
Above the consecrated sod;
Where ruin, scowling o'er the gloom,
For years has marked the scene her own,
Rebuild the crumbling walls, relume
The fire upon the altar stone! "
He heard the summons and obeyed;
And desolation bloom'd again,
Like nature, as old bards have said,
Obedient to the minstrel strain.
How soon his strain exultant swells
The hymn that mortals may not share!
Like music borne on summer gales,
That melts upon the distant air.