O, some­times gleams up­on our sight,
Through pre­sent wrong, the Eter­nal Right!
And step by step, since time be­gan,
We see the stea­dy gain of man.

That all of good the past hath had
Remains to make our own time glad,
Our com­mon dai­ly life di­vine,
And ev­ery land a Pal­es­tine.

We lack but op­en eye and ear
To find the Ori­ent’s mar­vels here,
The still small voice in au­tumn’s hush,
Yon ma­ple wood the burn­ing bush.

For still the new trans­cends the old,
In signs and to­kens ma­ni­fold;
Slaves rise up men; the ol­ive waves
With roots deep set in bat­tle graves.

Through the harsh nois­es of our day
A low, sweet pre­lude finds its way;
Through clouds of doubt and creeds of fear
A light is break­ing, calm and clear.

Henceforth my heart shall sigh no more
For old­en time and ho­li­er shore;
God’s love and bless­ing, then and there,
Are now, and here, and ev­ery­where.