The Maid of Judah.
No more shall the children of Judah sing
The lay of a happier time;
Or strike the harp with the golden string
Neath the sun of an eastern clime;
Or strike the harp with the golden string,
Neath the sun of an eastern clime.
This, this was the lay of a Jewish maid,
Though not in her father's bowers.
So sweetly she sang as in sadness she stray'd,
Oer the ruins of Babylon's towers
No more shall the children of Judah &c
O where are the sons of mine ancient race,
Who were born the jav'lin to bear!
How fall'n is the city whose wreck I now trace,
That once was so lovely and fair!
The green grass grows on that fertile spot,
Where once grew sweetest flowers,
Land of my kindred thou'lt ne'er be forgot,
While a ruin remains of thy towers!
Land of my kindred thou'lt nefer be forgot,
While a ruin remains of thy towers!
No more shall the children of Judah &c
My Wife's Dead.
My wife's dead-There let her lie-
She's at rest- and so am I.
