In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport

The pride of luxury's barbaric pomp,

In the rich court of royal Solomon --

Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains, --

The exiles by the streams of Babylon.

Our softened voices send us back again

But mournful echoes through the empty hall:

Our footsteps have a strange unnatural sound,

And with unwonted gentleness they fall.

The weary ones, the sad, the suffering,

All found their comfort in the holy place,

And children's gladness and men's gratitude

'Took voice and mingled in the chant of praise.

The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!

We know not which is sadder to recall;

For youth and happiness have followed age,

And green grass lieth gently over all.

Nathless the sacred shrine is holy yet,

With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.

Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,

Before the mystery of death and God.