That, through the distance, greets thy sight,
Is the bright beacon-ray to guide
Thy toiling footsteps to its side;
Not now does sorrow’s gloomy cloud
That lovely spot in darkness shroud;
No rites, unholy, now are there;
No tainted incense fills the air;
On; pilgrim, on; for Israel’s God
Is worshiped there, by Syria’s lord;
And the rich mercies he receives