Awake, Arise, Thy Light Is Come. (Air.--Stevenson.)

A poem by Thomas Moore

Awake, arise, thy light is come;[1]
The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
Their homage to thy rising lustre.[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
To thee return thy home-sick daughters.[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,[5]
Are gathering from all earth's dominions,
Like doves, long absent, when allowed
Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions.

Surely the isles shall wait for me,[6]
The ships of Tarshish round will hover,
To bring thy sons across the sea,
And waft their gold and silver over.

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace[7]--
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious
Shall beautify our Holy Place,
And make the ground I tread on glorious.

No more shall dischord haunt thy ways,[8]
Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation;
But thou shalt call thy portal Praise,
And thou shalt name thy walls Salvation.

The sun no more shall make thee bright,[9]
Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee;
But God, Himself, shall be thy Light,
And flash eternal glory thro' thee.

Thy sun shall never more go down;
A ray from heaven itself descended
Shall light thy everlasting crown--
Thy days of mourning all are ended.[10]

My own, elect, and righteous Land!
The Branch, for ever green and vernal,
Which I have planted with this hand--
Live thou shalt in Life Eternal.[11]

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