Page:Songs of exile (IA songsofexile00daviiala).pdf/25

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Far from mine House the Sacred Presence fled,

Shunning the place of mine iniquity;

Yea, thence did my Belovèd flee away,

And left the beauty of my tent to wane

And set in darkness nevermore to rise.

How doth the city, once with heroes thronged,

Great 'mid the nations, now sit solitary!"

Pausing, she glided to the Prophet's side,

And with imploring utterance whispering spake:

"Plead to thy God for this my bitter wound;

Beseech Him for the tempest-stricken soul;

Until He softened say: 'It is enough!'

And save my sons from exile and the sword."

With suppliant's plea he prayed before his Lord:

"O God of mercy! let compassion flow,

E'en as a father pitieth his son;"

And cried: "Doth not a father mourn his child