Nor shall my spirit faint or feel decay;
I bowed before Him in His hallowed shrine,
And Sion’s pride and Sion’s strength was mine.
Did I not tall as those fair cedars grow,
Which grace our Lebanon’s exalted brow?
Did I not lofty as the cypress rise,
Which seems from Hermon’s heights to meet the skies?
Fresh as Engaddi’s palm that scents the air,
Like rose of Jericho, so sweet, so fair;
Green as the verdant olive of the groves,