Proud kings have passed through thee, and crowned heads;
And grandeur and magnificence could view
In thee a resting place--thy stores not few;
Why is it thou art all alone?
O! Babylon. O! Babylon.

And Greece, who shone in literature and might,
When Marathon's broad plains saw sword and fight;
Thy monumental ruins stand alone,
Decay has breathed upon thy sculptured stone
And desolation walks thy princely halls,
The green branch twines around thy olden walls;
And ye who stood the ten years' siege of Troy,
Time's fingers now your battlements annoy;
Why is it that thy glories cease?
O! Classic Greece. O! Classic Greece!

And thou, best city of olden time,
O! we might weep for thee, once chosen clime.
City, where Solomon his temple reared,
City, where gold and silver stores appeared;
City, where priest and prophet lowly knelt,
City, where God in mortal flesh once dwelt.
Titus, and Roman soldiers, laid thee low,
The music in thy streets has ceased to flow;
Yet wilt thou not return in joy once more,
And Lebanon give up her cedar store?
And vines and olives smile as now they smile,
Yet not upon the ruin of a holy pile;
Wilt thou Destruction's flood not stem?