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106

The Temple standing, pride of Israel's race,

Hath resting there no sacred Ark of Gold;

God's Glory filleth not the Holy Place

As once of old.

Surely the glory of the House is o'er;

Gone is the Presence, silent is the Voice;—

They who remember that which is no more,

Can they rejoice?

To him, so musing, sudden rapture came;

The axe fell from his trembling hand's control;

A fire leapt upward, and a burning flame

Woke in his soul.

His eyes had seen; his soul spoke; he had gazed

Upon one stone of that smooth marble plain:—

Lo! from its place it surely had been raised,

And set again.