Fallen Is Thy Throne. (Air.--Martini.)

Fallen is thy Throne, oh Israel!
    Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
    Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee
    On Etham's barren shore?
That fire from Heaven which led thee,
    Now lights thy path no more.

LORD! thou didst love Jerusalem--
    Once she was all thy own;
Her love thy fairest heritage,^[1]
    Her power thy glory's throne.^[2]
Till evil came, and blighted
    Thy long-loved olive-tree;^[3]--
And Salem's shrines were lighted
    For other gods than Thee.

Then sunk the star of Solyma--
    Then past her glory's day,
Like heath that, in the wilderness,^[4]
    The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers,
    Where once the mighty trod,
And sunk those guilty towers,
    While Baal reign'd as God.

"Go"--said the LORD--"Ye Conquerors!
    "Steep in her blood your swords,
"And raze to earth her battlements,^[5]
    "For they are not the LORD'S.
"Till Zion's mournful daughter
    "O'er kindred bones shall tread,
"And Hinnom's vale of slaughter^[6]
    "Shall hide but half her dead!"

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

As Vanquished Erin.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

When Thou Art Nigh.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Steerman's Song,

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIX.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Fall Of Jerusalem

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Thou art low! thou mighty one,
How is the brilliance of thy diadem,
How is the lustre of thy throne
Rent from thee, and thy sun of fame
Darkend by the shadowy pinion
Of the Roman bird, whose sway
All the tribes of earth obey,
Crouching neath his dread dominion,
And the terrors of his name!

How is thy royal seatwhereon
Sate in days of yore
Lowly Jesses godlike son,
And the strength of Solomon,
In those rich and happy times
When the ships from Tarshish bore
Incense, and from Ophirs land,
With silken sail and cedar oar,
Wafting to Judeas strand
All the wealth of foreign climes
How is thy royal seat oerthrown!
Gone is all thy majesty:
Salem! Salem! city of kings,
Thou sittest desolate and lone,...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Awake, Arise, Thy Light Is Come. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Awake, arise, thy light is come;^[1]
    The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
    The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
    From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
    Their homage to thy rising lustre.^[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
    O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
    To thee return thy home-sick daughters.^[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
    Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
    To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.^[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,^[5]
    Are ...

Thomas Moore

Weep, Children Of Israel. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Weep, weep for him, the Man of God--^[1]
    In yonder vale he sunk to rest;
But none of earth can point the sod^[2]
    That flowers above his sacred breast.
        Weep, children of Israel, weep!

His doctrine fell like Heaven's rain.^[3]
    His words refreshed like Heaven's dew--
Oh, ne'er shall Israel see again
    A Chief, to GOD and her so true.
        Weep, children of Israel, weep!

Remember ye his parting gaze,
    His farewell song by Jordan's tide,
When, full of glory and of days,
    He saw the promised land--and died.^[4]
        Weep, children of Israel, weep!

Yet died he not as men who sink,
    Before our eyes, to soulless clay;
But, changed to spirit, like a wink
    Of summe...

Thomas Moore

The Destruction Of Babylon.

An awful vision floats before my sight,
Black as the storm and fearful as the night:
Thy fall, oh Babylon!--the awful doom
Pronounced by Heaven to hurl thee to the tomb,
Peals in prophetic thunder in mine ear--
The voice of God foretelling ruin near!

    Hark! what strange murmurs from the hills arise,
Like rushing torrents from the bursting skies!
Loud as the billows of the restless tide,
In strange confusion flowing far and wide,
Ring the deep tones of horror and dismay,
The shriek--the shout--the battle's stern array--
The gathering cry of nations from afar--
The tramp of steeds--the tumult of the war--
Burst on mine ear, and o'er thy fated towers
Hovers despair, and fierce destruction lowers;
Within the fire--without the vengeful sword;
Who lead...

Susanna Moodie

But Who Shall See. (Air.--Stevenson.)

But who shall see the glorious day
    When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
    Which hides the nations now?^[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
    Of this rebuke shall lie;^[2]
When pain shall cease, and every tear
    Be wiped from every eye.^[3]

Then, Judah, thou no more shall mourn
    Beneath the heathen's chain;
Thy days of splendor shall return,
    And all be new again.^[4]

The Fount of Life shall then be quaft
    In peace, by all who come;^[5]
And every wind that blows shall waft
    Some long-lost exile home.

Thomas Moore

David's Lamentation Over Saul And Jonathan.

The beauty of Israel is slain on thy mountains,
The mighty are low, and how great is their fall,
But tell not our grief in Gath, by the fountains,
And publish it not within Askelon's wall,
Lest the Philistines' daughters shall mock at our sorrow,
And triumph in gladness o'er us in our pain,
And sound all their timbrels and harps on the morrow,
While here we are sore, in lamenting our slain.

Oh! Gilboa's mountains, from now and forever,
Let moisture, which falleth as rain, or as dew,
Come down on thy parch'd, burning summits, oh, never,
For the shield of the mighty is cast upon you.
From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the highest,
The bow of fair Jonathan never did quail,
And the sword of his father, in danger the highest,
Went forth to brave deeds, l...

Thomas Frederick Young