Classic Poem

Thus saith the Gracious One: Behold,
I bring again my chosen race
To find the father's dwelling place
And rest within the ancient fold.

I gather them from every land,
The hoary sire, the valiant one,
The mother and her little son,
The lame, the blind, a mingled band.

With supplications, moans and tears,
A hallowed, meek array, they come;
And I will lead them to their home
In ways devoid of snares and fears.

My holy city shall arise
Upon the remnant of her wall,
And every turret, gate and hall
Exult anew where ruin lies.

Thanksgiving, praise and holy song
Will echo there; the dulcimer
And tabret set the heart astir;
The dancers wheel in happy throng.

Her multitude will live anew,
Her kings revive the perfect days,
Her temple ring again with praise,
Because my promises are true.