Thou Who Knowest our Sorrows

Thou who knowest our sorrows, and bindest up our wounds,
Turn again our tens of thousands to the land of our abodes.
There shall we offer our oblations, our vows, our freewill offerings,
There shall we make before Thee the offerings due to Thee.
The faithful recall to-day the wonders of olden time;
The children groan, for other lords beside Thee are their masters.
Where is God’s covenant to the fathers, where His former mercies,
When He spake from the heaven of His dwelling, unto us, face to face,
When He gave into the hand of the faithful envoy the two tablets of stone?
And where are all His marvels which our fathers have told us?
How long have we drunken our fill of bitterness, and hoped for Thy salvation?
How many seasons were we sick with longing, but entreated none but Thee,
And watched for the light of morning, but were covered with thick darkness?
As though we had not been a People, nay, had not been more wonderful than any People;
As though we had not seen the day of Sinai, nor had drunken the waters of the rock,
And Thy manna had not been in our mouth, and Thy cloud about us!
They ask the way to Zion—they pray toward her—
The children exiled from her border, but which have not stript themselves of their adornment.
The beautiful adornment for which they were praised, for this they are slain and defiled—
The treasures they inherited at Horeb, whereby they are justified and proud;
Slaves bear rule over them, but they will never cease to call Thee
Until Thou turn our captivity and comfort our waste places.
We stand upon our watch to keep Thy righteous judgments—
And even if our splendour be ruined, and we be thrust forth from Thy bosom,
And an handmaid be our mistress, and those far off from Thee rule over us,
Yet do we hold fast to our crown, the diadem of Thy statutes,
Until Thou gather our company into the house of Thy choice and Thy desire,
Our holy place, our glory, where our fathers praised Thee.