Classic Poem

Poor village! rich in name alone,
Memorial of THE Sent of God,
The Father's everlasting Son,
Whose holy feet these slopes have trod.

Above thee towers grey Olivet,
Beneath dark Hinnom's vale I see,
Before thee Salem's wall and gate,
And at thy side Gethsemane.

Siloam! know THE Sent of God,
And learn the meaning of thy name;
Oh give the Sent One an abode,
Know who He is and whence He came.

So shall He come and bless thee now,
So shall He end thy gloomy night;
So shall He make thy joy o'erflow,
And fill thee with his glorious light.

Rude village of the rock and tomb!
Daily before thy heedless eyes,
Memorial of the sinner's doom,
The ruins of old Zion rise.

And daily, on Moriah's slope,
In yon sad wall, each massive stone,
Like tomb-words on the grave of hope,
Tells of the glory past and gone.

Across the vale, yon ruined pool
Speaks of the eye-restoring might
Of Him, whose mercy, ever full,
Yearns still to bless thee with his light.