"And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." Fair lilies of Jerusalem!
Ye wear the same array,
As when the imperial Judah stern,
Maintained its regal sway.
By sacred Jordan's desert tide,
As bright ye blossom on,
As when your simple charms outvied
The pomp of Solomon. The lonely pilgrim's heart is filled
With holiest themes divine,
When first he sees your colors gild
The fields of Palestine.
Fresh springing from the emerald sod
As beautiful to see,
As when the meek, incarnate God
Took parable from ye. What rose amidst her fragrant bowers,
That steals the morning's glow,
Or tulip, queen of Eastern flowers,
Was ever honored so?
But ye are of the lowly train,
Which he delights to raise;
Ye bloom unsullied by a stain,
And therefore ye have praise. Ye never toiled with anxious care,
From silken threads to spin
That living gold, refined and rare,
Which God hath clothed ye in;
That ye, his simplest works, should shine
In such adornment dress'd,
That mightiest kings of Judah's line,
Could boast of no such vest. Ye still as mute memorials stand
Of Scripture's sacred page,
Sweet lilies of the Holy Land!
And bloom in every age.
You've seen the terrors of the Lord,
By signs and wonders shown,
And kingly rebels to his power,
Amidst their pride o'erthrown. Ye flourished when the captive band,
By prophets warned in vain,
Were led to fair Euphrates' strand,
From Jordan's pleasant plain;
In hostile lands to weep and dream
Of things that still were free,
And sigh to see your golden gleam—
Sweet flowers of Galilee! And ye have seen a darker hour,
On Sion's children fall,
Than when Chaldea's vengeful power,
Assailed her leaguered wall;
Ye saw the eagles from afar,
On wings of terror come,
And godly priests maintain a war
'Gainst earth-subduing Rome. The meteor sword that high in air,
O'er guilty Salem swept,
And all her burden of despair,
O'er which Messiah wept.
Ye bloomed unsullied, meek, lowly flowers!
On that terrific night,
When marble fanes and rock-built towers
Crashed downward from their height.