A sound hath pass'd through the nations, heard
By the heart alone, when its depths are stirr'd;
Mightier than that of storm-lifted seas,
Than the tempest's rush amid forrest trees;
Mightier than sorrow's earth-born cry,
Than the shout of kings to victory;
And still, where its tale hath gone,
A voice to the breeze is cast,
"On to Jerusalem, brothers, on!
We have gain'd our home at last!
"Lift up thine head, O Israel! yet
From the depths of the darkness round thee set;
Rejoice, for the chosen of the Lord
Have listened once more to His living word;
Calling them forth from the nations around,
To the hallow'd rest of their father's ground:
And still, as the goal is won,
Let the thrilling shout be past,
On to Jerusalem, brothers, on!
We have gain'd our home at last!
"Was the scoffer strong in the days of old,
Fenced by his idols of dust-won gold,
Mocking their hope, while his footsteps trod
With the prophet-gather'd hosts of God?
Heed him not now in the times that be,
For ours is no common destiny;
But, with true armour, won
From the stores of the mighty past,
On to Jerusalem, boldly on!
We have gain'd our home at last!
"Did the desert of old yield its gushing wave,
For the pilgrim-fathers their thirst to lave?
Did the vision of God before them stand,
Guiding their steps to the promis'd land?
And shall we, their children, all forget
That this mighty arm is our refuge yet?
No! by the hope whereon
We have lean'd through the stormy past!
On to Jerusalem, brothers, on!
We have gain'd our home at last!
"There flow the waters that flow'd of yore,
Washing no trace from the hallow'd shore;
There rise the hills where our fathers bow'd
When the voice of God shook the riven cloud;
And the boughs of the stately cedar thrill
With that holy breath, for it stirs them still:
And we, are we call'd upon
By a voice to the desert cast?
On to Jerusalem, Israel, on!
We have gain'd our home at last!"
