Towards Jerusalem

I have slept in beds of roses, And walked o’er fields of thyme. I am called the wanderer Of every mount and clime. My back is marked by lashes. I know the Roman’s scorn. When I stood at the tomb of Cyrus On a dusty Persian plain, I saw all realms and empires Rise up to shine and wane. This world’s weary ways I know And shall know to the end. Once on a Friday morning I mocked a fellow Jew. I have borne the gentile’s fury, I took tenfold my due. Though mortals put off dying, I’d don the robes they shun. When Israel’s sheep were slaughtered, I cried. “Not they but I Must breathe the Beast’s foul poison,” But vainly did I cry. Whose woes compare to my deep woes, O you who pass this way? I am a wise philosopher. To this one truth I came: All men and women are different, And yet they’re all the same. This is a pearl of wisdom That some for pride distain. In synagogues and churches, In mosque and Buddhist fane, All people of all creeds make moan: “Come, Lord, Thy kingdom claim, But wait a little longer, Lord, While we manage on our own”. I believe in Zion’s dawning, Yet I have learned the woe Of one Jew’s death and suffering. My sufferings say ‘tis so. But the offering of millions Has made poor Atlas groan. O Shepherd of a scattered flock, Your words are no less true Than when David’s house was strong Or when manna fell as dew. Refreshment follows weariness Life death as death this life. I have slept in beds of roses, And walked o’er fields of thyme. I am called the wanderer Of every mount and clime. I see my path wind upwards Towards Jerusalem.