How doth the City, once so full of fame,
Now silent sit and mourn her widowed name!
She, that was great among the nations far,
When kings and princes brought their gold to her!
She weepeth sore. The midnight hears her moan—
Her tears fast flowing, as she sits alone.
Her friends are foes. To fill her general doom,
Her lovers, children, sink into the tomb.
Judah afflicted is, a slave of old;
She’s gone a captive,—to a servant sold.
Her people, scattered through a heathen land,
No rescue have they from the spoiler’s hand.
O Zion! Mourn thy state, because there’s none
To spread thy feasts, or call thy children home.
Thy temple’s empty; all thy teachers sigh
In bitterness, to hear thy maidens cry:
‘The Lord Jehovah hath this wonder wrought,
For her transgressions are these judgments brought’
Zion’s fair daughters, all their beauty fled!
Her princes fallen! All her heroes dead!
Jerusalem once great, how changed the scene!
Her sorrows double, make her anguish keen,
When recollection calls her mercies o’er,—
The pleasant things she had in days of yore.
Her foes approach; her people all are slain;
She cries for help,—alas! She cries in vain.
Behold the envious! How he taunting says:
“Where are your Sabbaths and your solemn days?”
The nations that have known and heard her fame
Despise her now and publish all her shame.
Her downcast look, her end, her bitter sigh,
Are not regarded. No Deliverer’s nigh.
Behold, O Lord, how her afflictions grow!
Her enemies have magnified them too.
There walk the plunderer’s and the murderer’s band,
No place so sacred can their rage command.
Her people sigh for bread; they seek in vain
Their pleasant things for meat. They cry again:
“Look down, O Lord! consider all my ways;
How vile am I, how sinful all my days!”
“Ah! What is that to you who pass me by?
Does any sorrow with my sorrow vie?
The Lord in judgment hath afflicted me;
From his fierce anger whither shall I flee?”
“In every path my feet have found a snare.
If I return, it’s desolation there.
And my transgression, like a yoke, is bound
Upon my neck. My crimes are twisted round.”
“My strength is weakness. Lord, how can I rise,
Delivered over to my sins a prize?
The Lord hath trodden, by a mighty host,
My old and young men, humbled in the dust.”
“For these I weep; my tears are streaming fast;
No comfort near, nor desolation past.
In vain I spread my hands; for there is none
To comfort me or bring my children home.”
“The Lord commands; in terror I am bound,
And all my foes encompass me around.
O righteous Sovereign! Lo, how just thy cause!
For I’ve rebelled and trampled on thy laws.”
“Hear, all ye people, and my woes behold;
My virgins captured, and my young men sold.
I call my lovers, once my hope and pride;
But they despise me, and my sighs deride.”
“My priests and elders, while they seek for bread,
Give up the ghost, and slumber with the dead.
Behold, O Lord, in me is sore distress,
My heart is troubled, and I find no rest;”
“Abroad the sword, at home is naught but death,
I sigh, a rebel, with my every breath.
There’s none to comfort, though they hear me sigh
‘The Lord has done it all,’ they gladly cry.”
“Behold the day the Lord has called his own,
When they, like me, shall come before his throne.
There all their sins and wickedness shall be,
And do to them as Thou hast done to me.”
“For my transgressions and my soul’s complaint
My sighs are many, and my heart is faint.”
– William Miller (published in Sylvester Bliss’ Memoirs of William Miller)
