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Where, fathers! doth your merit slumber now,

That sanctified of old the covenant?"

"What crave ye, sons, from Me? The doom is fixed.

This is My judgment; this is My decree.

The shrine is desolate, bereft of men;

None cometh in upon the solemn day;

Behold, the steps of My belovèd fail."—

"But Thou wilt yet restore them as of old,

O Thou Sustainer! Thou that givest strength!

And pity Zion; for the time is come."