The lingering mist is stirred, and clears away,
As over Beulah land my vision soars
To trace its gentle roll of hill and vale,
And voke the mighty promise that He swore:
A home for Israel’s children, long a-gone.
Israel; how it grieves my faltering heart
To think of how my will of lawless stone
Has striven with my fathers’ God; and start
To feel the weight of His late words to me:
Your eyes shall see, but not pass over there.
Would that my soul had sight undimmed and free
To grasp a vision of a land so fair
That great Jehovah gladly stoops to claim
Its metes and bounds with His tremendous Name.

But slow the Ruach, as it clears the strand
Recalls my mind to visions long gone by:
A voice from underneath the shifting sand,
A riven rock that once was desert-dry.
Their voices lift, and cut me to the heart;
Blood flows again, and stone is splintered new.
The anger of the friend of God, whose art
Of humble mien rose up in crimson hue
To speak against him in his final hour.
Dark forms press in; The Lord rebuke you! rings.
But in the turmoil of the airy power
Another pure and dazzling vision springs:
A holy City as a bride brought home;
A Savior born in Zion! Lord, I come.

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