August, 1902.]
THE MACCABÆAN.
67
THE GOLDEN GATE OF JERUSALEM
The Word Miraculous
O N the threshold of the coming age he stands,A sleeper new-awake; the thoughts that teemHis heaven-storming brain, eager gleam on gleamFlash athwart his brow; tensely his strong handsClose on his destiny; the rotted bandsThat curbed his might i' the glorious beamOf deed-bright future fall; the moment-streamOf time is null; he Eternity commands.O Zion, miraculous, bless'd, magic word,Hast wakened him who loved thee to be free.What high aims in his fluttering heart were stirred,What boundless strength has welled on him through thee.On him who obsoletely lay immured,And revels now in thy bounteous Liberty..