In Memoriam, Ninth of Ab

AND all is lost! Thy valiant sons are dead

Or slaves! The crown from off thy queenly brow

Is plucked! Thy glory in the dust doth bow!

Thine ancient splendours are for ever fled!

I see it all—thine altars gory red:—

Around, Death lays the mighty heroes low,

Awhile, revengeful and relentless glow

The fiendish flames, and from the foot to head

Consume the Sanctuary! O woeful day!

When Temple, Country, Freedom, all in one,

Most dire destruction, fell! Then to the skies

Uprose the bitter cry of dark dismay,

Oh, God, Almighty Lord, forgive, condone,

And in Thy glory, make our glory rise!