Classic Poem

Fair camp of God, how goodly are thy tents,
Within whose midst the milk and honey flow!
For thee the promised land gives forth her scents,
For thee the hanging gardens crowned with snow,

And softer dews than Hermon's, and more shade
Than rocks beneath the boughs of Lebanon;
For thee, O fair delight, all things were made,
And they which marred them, the false gods, are gone.

For this is never Canaan's land, but Greece,
Where shines the face and not the frown of God;
And never Gideon's but Jason's fleece;
And this Apollo's bough, not Aaron's rod.

The night breathes warm, and the tent doors are wide;
And fleece and bough lie close against thy side.