And granite ridges sweet with nard
O'er-gaze and fence the patriot's home.
No realm of river-mouth and pelf;
No traffic realm of corn and wine;
God keeps, and lifts her, to Himself:—
His bride she is, as I am thine.
When down that Moslem deluge rolled,
The Faith, enthroned 'mid ruins, sat
Here, in her Lebanonian hold,
Firm as the ark on Ararat.