For the Sake of the House of our God

Thy words are compounded of sweet-smelling myrrh
And gathered from the rock of the mountains of spice,
And unto thee and the house of thy fathers belong precious virtues
Whereunto praises fail to attain.
Thou comest to meet me with sweet speeches,
But within them lie men in wait bearing swords—
Words wherein stinging bees lurk,
A honeycomb prickly with thorns.
If the peace of Jerusalem is not to be sought
While yet with the blind and the halt she is filled,
For the sake of the House of our God let us seek
Her peace, or for the sake of friends and of brothers;
And if it be according to your words, see, there is sin
Upon all those who bend towards her and bow down,
And sin upon those sires who dwelt in her as strangers,
And purchased there vaults for their dead.
And vain would be the deed of the fathers who were embalmed
And their bodies sent to her earth—
And they sighing for her sake
Though the land was full of reprobates;
And for naught would the fathers’ altars have been built,
And in vain their oblation offered there.
Is it well that the dead should be remembered,
And the Ark and the Tablets forgotten?
That we should seek out the place of the pit and the worm,
And forsake the fount of life eternal?
Have we any heritage save the sanctuaries of God?—
Then how should we forget His holy Mount?
Have we either in the east or in the west
A place of hope wherein we may trust,
Except the land that is full of gates,
Toward which the gates of Heaven are open—
Like Mount Sinai and Carmel and Bethel,
And the houses of the prophets, the envoys,
And the thrones of the priests of the Lord's throne,
And the thrones of the kings, the anointed?
Unto us, yea, and unto our children, hath He assigned her;
And though wild beasts abide in her, and doleful creatures,
Was it not so she was given of old to the fathers—
All of her the heritage of thorns and thistles?
But they walked through the length and the breadth of her
As one walketh in an orchard among the green boughs,
Though they came as strangers and sojourners, seeking
But burial place and a lodging there, like wayfarers.
And there they walked before the Lord
And learnt the straight paths.
And they said that here arise the shades
And those who lie under the bars of earth come forth,
And that here the bodies rejoice.
And the souls return to their rest.
See now, yea see, my friend, and understand
And turn aside from the lure of thorns and snares,
And let not the wisdom of the Greeks beguile thee,
Which hath no fruit, but only flowers—
Or her fruit is, that the earth was never outstretched
Nor the tents of the sky spread out,
Nor was any beginning to all the work of creation
Nor will any end be to the renewal of the months.
Hark how the words of her wise are confused,
Built and plastered up on a vain unstable base
And thou wilt come back with a heart stripped empty
And a mouth full of dross and weeds.
Wherefore, then, should I seek me out crooked ways,
And forsake the mother of paths?