There many a wearied pilgrim-wanderer finds
A peaceful rest from Life’s dark toil and care.
And there awaiteth many a scattered one
Of Israel’s people—till the joyful day
Shall see the long “lost tribe of Judah” come
Once more to thy blest land, oh Palestine! for aye,
And here, ’mid fallen Rome, Ben Ezra bides—
Miriam is not—earth hath no joy besides.
. . . . . .
America the blest! all proudly to thy shore