The crucifixion of His only Son.

Here now the banner of the prophet false,
Unfolds its silken folds to taunt the Jew;
The moslem minarets lift high their heads.
And raise their summits in the placid sky--
As tho' to rouse from his deep lethargy
The hardened Jew; to wrest from Paynim hordes
The Holy City, once the abode of God.

But shall Mohammed's banner ever float
On Salem's ruins? Shaft her sacred dust
Where Christ has shed His blood, by infidels
Be ever trodden down? Shall her temple
Prostrate lie, to cause the impious mock
Of Mussulmen for ever? It may not be.
Ere many years wane in eternity,
That banner shall be plucked from its proud height--
Those tow'ring minarets shall fall to earth
And God again be worshipp'd thro' the land.
David's fair city shall be then rebuilt;
Her pristine beauty shall be far surpassed
By more than mortal splendour; her temple
Point high its turrets to the skies--and He,
The God of Hosts with glory fill the place!

S.J.

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