PALESTINE.

LEST land of Judæa! thrice hallowed of song, Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee.

With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore,
Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before;
With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod
Made bright by the steps of the angels of God.

Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear

Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear;

Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down,
And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown.

Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green,

And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene;

And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see

The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee!

Hark! a sound in the valley! where, swollen and strong,
Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along;

Where the Canaanite strove with JEHOVAH in vain,
And the torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain.

There down from his mountains stern Zebulon came,
And Naphtali's stag, with his eyeballs of flame,
And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on,
For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son.

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There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang
To the song which the warrior-prophetess sang,
When the princes of Issachar stood by her side,
And the shout of a host in its triumph replied.

Lo! Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen,

With the mountains around and the valleys between;
There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there
The song of the angels rose sweet in the air.

And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw
Their shadows at noon on the ruins below;
But where are the sisters who hastened to greet
The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet?

I tread where the twelve in their wayfaring trod:

I stand where they stood with the chosen of God,

Where His blessings were heard, and His lessons were taught, Where the blind were restored, and the healing was wrought.

O, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came,—
These hills He toiled over in grief, are the same,

The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow,

And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow.

And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet,

But the dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet;
For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone,
And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone.

But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode
Of humanity clothed in the likeness of God?
Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim,
It would gaze, even now, on the presence of Him!

Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when,

In love and in meekness, He moved among men;
And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea,
In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me!