The blood of her first king—dark as the curse of Cain!
Night—on Mount Moriah! o’er his solemn brow
Those sentinels that guard the halls of Heaven
As brightly keep their wakeful vigils now
As when He knelt ’neath their pure beams at even,
And prayed in agony that we might be forgiven.
Moonlight o’er Galilee! the sparkling wave
That bounded as the sunbeams kissed its breast,
Are now all motionless and silent, save
Their low, hushed murmurs where the soft winds rest.