Classic Poem

Come, view the Holy Land, indeed!
Come, see the place where Jesus lay!
The rock, the tree, the flower, the seed
Are all there as they were that day
When heartless' thousands heard him pray,
When pitiless thousands saw him bleed.

Behold, this is the Holy Land!
From Jordan's wave these pure drops come;
This shell, that glittered on the strand,
Bears witness with its ocean foam,
And this from its high mountain home,
That all the words of Jesus stand.

Now read the Gospel of these things,—
On this poor stone perhaps Christ trod!
And so, a Monitor, it brings
Our clay-bound spirits nearer God,
Because it represents the sod
Whence his humanity took wings.

With fervent tongue each little thing
Its words of testimony says;
You, who Christ's truths are gathering,
These tokens from His land address,
For tree, mount, river chant his praise,
And “they that dwell in dust do sing.”