The Daughter of Zion
In the storm and in the stress of the cloud-mantled yearsThat passed o'er thy head in a long night of woe,Thy Spirit, O Judah, ne'er quailed to thy fears,Though thy figure it marred and thy frame it bent low.
But thou Daughter of Zion, O pride of your race, Though relentless, unheeding the ages have rolled, Still thine is the charm and faultless the grace That dowered thy form in far days of old.
Still dwells in thine eye the far-flashing light,Outshining the Sun in his zenith of glory,Still shines in thy soul resplendant and brightThe virtues that compass the page of thy story.
Whence comes this rare gift preserved thro' all time,Denied to thy sisters far younger and free,All proof to the reasons and changes of clime,A measure of beauty but granted to thee?
The secret 'tis writ in a sealed book of lore,(None but the holy its pages may read)Full of legends and tales that happened of yoreAnd things that were strange and wondrous indeed.
In that grim fateful day when Egypt's proud might Sank low in the depths of a watery grave, From the heart of His people burst forth that night A hymn to the Giver who victory gave.
On that wave-washed strand ere yet broke the morn,The Daughters of Judah with cymbal and lyre,Immingled their strain as aloft it was borneWith that which arose from the heavenly Choir.
And the Angels entranced by the sweetness of songThat floated on high in divinest accord,Re-echoed the strain as it pealed from the throng"Who 'mong the gods is like Thee, O our Lord!"
Then the white wing'd host uplifted to heavenThis prayer: "O Lord grant these Thy fair DaughtersBeauty unfading eternal, to all, time be it givenFor the praise that they hymn'd by the swift running waters."
Then God from on high flashed deep through their soul A gleam of that glory that encircles His Throne, And bade the bright stars that limitless roll Shine into their eyes the dim splendor they own.
And the Angels likewise with ready acclaimBrought tribute of grace from the lightning-charged storm,A spark that leap'd forth from their chariots of flame,And sank into their views and fashioned their form.
Thus through the ages that roll, and in lands far apart,In bleak icy mountain, or verdure clad plain.Wherever Fortune may smile, or Fate shoot his dart,There Thy Daughters, O Zion, their beauty retain.