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Beyond the farthest bourne of Dan
O'er lands where Heaven has laid its ban,
Like a spent snake the caravan
Toward Egypt creeps;
And oft the wistful Jewish slave
Looks westward, where the cedars lave
With murmurous shade his mother's grave,
Where Rachel sleeps,
Till his bright eyes, because of mist,
See not the chain upon his wrist.

 

From out the loftiest linteled pile,
That mingled in the mirrored Nile
The lotus on its peristyle
With that mid-stream,
He looks again, thro' orbs that swim
In tears, where Jacob, old and dim
Of sight, comes chanting Israel's hymn
Of God supreme,
And sobs the purple cannot cheek
Heave the bright chain about his neck.

 

Whoe'er for God hath iron worn,
Jehovah's gold shall yet adorn.