And though no temple richly drest,
Nor sacrifice is here;
We'll make his temple in our breast,
And offer up a tear.
['The first stanza repeated by the Chorus.
SECOND PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise,
And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes. 16
Ye fields of Sharon, dress'd in flow'ry pride,
Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide,
Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown'd,
Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around, 20
These hills how sweet! Those plains how wond'rous fair,
But sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there!
AIR.
O Memory, thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain;
To former joys recurring ever, 25
And turning all the past to pain;
Hence intruder, most distressing,
Seek the happy and the free:
The wretch who wants each other blessing,
Ever wants a friend in thee. 30
FIRST PROPHET.
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