JERUSALEM. BY WILLIAM SINCLAIR. Thou City of the Lord! whose name The angelic host in wonder tells; The halo of whose endless fame All earthly splendour far excels— To thee, from Judah’s stable mean, Arose the Prince from Jesse’s stem, And since hath deathless glory been With thee, Jerusalem! What though thy temples, domes, and towers, That man in strength and weakness made, Are, with their priests and regal powers, In lowly dust and ashes laid! The story of thine ancient time Steals on us, as it stole on them, Thrice hallowed by the lyre sublime Of thee, Jerusalem! We see within thy porches, Paul Uplift the arm, the voice command, Whose heaven-taught zeal, whose earnest call, Could rouse or paralyse the land— Though gold and pomp were his, and more, For God he spurned the glittering gem, And cast him prostrate all before Thy gates, Jerusalem! Even from the Mount of Olives now, When morning lifts her shadowy veil, And smiles o’er Moab’s lofty brow, And beauteous Jordan’s stream and vale, The ruins o’er the region spread, May witness of thine ancient fame, The very grave-yards of thy dead— Of thee, Jerusalem! The temple in its gorgeous state That in a dreadful ruin fell, The fortress and the golden gate Alike the saddening story tell, How he by Hinnom’s vale was led To Caiaphas, with mocking shame, That glad redemption might be shed O’er thee, Jerusalem! Fast by the Virgin’s tomb, and by These spreading olives bend the knee, For here his pangs and suffering sigh Thrilled through thy caves, Gethsemane; ’Twas here, beneath the olive shade, The Man of many sorrows came, With tears, as never mortal shed, For thee, Jerusalem!