By a Converted Jew

Behold the temple of the Lord No strife shall wound Messiah's reign

In latter days shall rise Or mar the Peaceful years;

Above the mountains and the hills To plough-shares now they beat their swords

And draw our won'dring eyes. To pruning-hooks their spears.

To this the joyful nations round, Come, then, O come from every land,

All lands and tongues shall flow: To worship at his shrine;

Up to the hill of God, they'll cry, And walking in the light of God,

And to his house we'll go. With peace and glory shine.

The beam that shines in Zion's hill,

Shall lighten every land;

The King who reigns in Zion's towers

Shall the whole world command.