Nor turned the Father to His cry the face—
That day when, seeing again the sacred Mount,
Came from their tombs
The prophets and the saints of Israel!
Behold the Isaac of the ancient time,
Who bends beneath the sword his gentle neck
And looks upon his slayer with a smile,
Kneeling to him in all humility.
No pity for the blooming flower of youth;
None for that bitter end,