Poetry

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Once razed to ground by Roman hordes,
Ploughed over like a plain,
One million butchered by their swords,
The rest led off in chains.

In Egypt’s markets sold as slaves
To distant lonesome parts
Far from their home they’d make their graves
Bowed down by heavy hearts.

The barren land sad witness kept
Through centuries of pain
While on Pesach its people wept,
Pined for that land again.

Jerusalem they pray might be
The place of next year’s feast,
The city they so ache to see
Whose name speaks hope and peace.

Within their souls a burden strong
No logic can explain,
Dispersion-born the Jews still long
For Israel again.

The prophet saw a vale of bones
All parched and dry and dead,
By means of which would God make known
The days that lay ahead.

When from the north, south, east and west,
In unbelief arrive;
At His divine unseen behest
These bones are made alive.

The time of Jacob’s trouble’s come,
They cry out to the Lord;
He hears; they look upon the Son
His hands and feet nail-scarred.

Then oh for sin what wailing cries!
He saves all Israel;
The One they had so long despised
Their King, Immanuel!!

Jerusalem from then will be
The City of the Lord,
All nations blessed eternally
When Israel’s restored.

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