From temple and from grave.
Farewell! farewell! thou beauteous sod,
Which Israel has for ages trod;
We leave thee to the oppressor’s rod,
Weeping the exiles’ doom.
We go! no more thy turf we press;
No more thy fruits and vineyards bless;
No land to love—no home possess,
Save earth’s cold breast—the tomb.
Where we have roamed the strangers roam;