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~The Holy City
Thirty
men, red-eyed and disheveled lined up before a judge of the San
Francisco police court. It was the regular morning company of Drunks and
disorderlies. Some were old and hardened, others hung their heads in
shame. Just as the momentary disorder attending the bringing-in of the
prisoners quieted down, a strange thing happened. A strong, clear voice
from below began singing:
Last
night I lay a sleeping
There
came a dream so fair.
Last
night! It had been for them all a nightmare or a drunken stupor. The
song was such a contrast to the horrible fact that no one could fail of
a sudden shock at the thought the song suggested.
I
stood in old Jerusalem,
Beside
the Temple there,
The
song went on. The judge had paused. He made a quiet inquiry. A former
member of a famous opera company known all over the country, was
awaiting trial for forgery. It was he who was singing in his cell.
Meantime
the song went on, and every man in the line showed emotion. One or two
dropped on their knees; one boy at the end of the line, after a
desperate effort at self-control, leaned against the wall, buried his
face against his folded arms, and sobbed, Oh mother, mother!
The
sobs, cutting to the very heart of the men who heard, and the song,
still welling its way through the courtroom, blended in the hush.
At
length one man protested, Judge, said he, have we got to submit to this?
We’re here to take our punishment, but this— He, too, began to sob.
It
was impossible to proceed with the business of the court, yet the judge
gave no order to stop the song. The police sergeant, after an effort to
keep the men in line, stepped back and waited with the rest. The song
moved on to its climax:
Jerusalem,
Jerusalem!
Sing
for the night is o’er!
Hosanna
in the highest!
Hosanna
for evermore!
In
an ecstasy of melody the last words rang out, and then there was
silence.
The
judge looked into the faces of the men before him. There was not one who
was not touched by the song; not one in whom some better impulse was not
stirred. He did not call the cases singly—a kind word of advice, and
he dismissed them all. No man was fined or sentenced to the workhouse
that morning. The song had done more good than punishment could possibly
have accomplished.
—Author
Unknown
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The Holy
City
(1) Last night I lay a-sleeping
There came a dream so fair;
I stood in old Jerusalem,
Beside the temple there;
I heard the children singing,
And ever as they sang,
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heav'n in answer rang,
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heav'n in answer rang,
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Lift up your gates and sing
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna to your King!
(2) And then methought my dream was chang'd,
The streets no longer rang,
Hush'd were the glad hosannas
The little children sang,
The sun grew dark with mystery,
The morn was cold and chill,
As a shadow of a cross arose
Upon a lonely hill,
As a shadow of a cross arose
Upon a lonely hill.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Hark! how the Angels sing
Hosannam in the highest,
Hosanna to your King!
(3) And once again the scene was chang'd,
New earth there seem'd to be!
I saw the Holy City
Beside the timeless sea;
The light of God was on its streets,
The gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter,
And no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night,
Nor sun to shine by day;
It was the new Jerusalem,
That would not pass away;
It was the new Jerusalem,
That would not pass away!
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Sing for the night is o'er,
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna forevermore!
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna forevermore!
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