Avenge,—oh! not our years
Of pain and wrong, the blood of martyrs shed,
The ashes heaped upon the hoary head,
The maiden’s silent tears.
The babe’s bread torn away,
The harvest blasted by the war-steed’s hoof,
The red flame wreathing o’er the cottage roof,
Judge not for these to-day!—
Is not Thine own dread rod
Mocked by the proud, Thy holy book disdained,
Thy name blasphemed, Thy temple courts profaned?
Avenge Thyself, O God!
Break Pharaoh’s iron crown;
Bind with new chains their nobles and their kings:
Wash from thine house the blood of unclean things,
And hurl their Dagon down!
Come in Thine own good time!
We will abide; we have not turned from Thee,
Though in a world of grief our portion be,
Of bitter grief and crime.
Be Thou our guard and guide!
Forth from the spoiler’s synagogue we go,
That we may worship where the torrents flow
And where the whirlwinds ride.
From lonely rocks and caves
We will pour forth our sacrifice of prayer.—
On, brethren, to the mountains! seek we there
Safe temples, quiet graves!
