Lament of a Captive Jew in Babylon

by a converted Jew.

Let the thick veil of darkness be roll'd from before thee, As trampl'd the Heathen o'er Zion's sad daughters,

Oh, Lord! and descend on the wing of the storm! She wept tears of shame o'er her guilt and her woe;

Dispersed and enslaved are the sons that adore thee, For the voice of her God had commissioned the slaughter,

And the rude hand of strangers thy Temple deform. The rod of his vengeance had pointed the blow.

And Salem, lov'd Salem, lies low and degraded, Tho' foul are the sins, oh thou lost one, which stain thee,

While, far from her ruins, in exile we pine; The blood of the Lamb yet can wash them away;

Yet still is the hope, of thy remnant, unfaded, Tho' galling and base are the bands that enchain thee,

The word that inspir'd it, Jehovah, is thine. The God that imposed them can lighten their sway.

Alas! we were warned, but reck'd not the warning. For a star yet shall rise o'er the darkness of Judah;

'Till our warriors grew weak, in the day of despair; A branch yet shall flourish on Jesse's proud stem;

And our glory was fled, as the light of the morning, And Zion shall triumph o'er those that subdued her,

That gleams, for a moment, and melts into air. Yea, triumph in giving a Savior to them!