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HEBREW MELODIES.
13
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.
I.Since our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!Demand that thy Daughter expire;Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow—Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!
II.And the voice of my mourning is o'er,And the mountains behold me no more:If the hand that I love lay me low,There cannot be pain in the blow!
III.And of this, oh, my Father! be sure—That the blood of thy child is as pureAs the blessing I beg ere it flow,And the last thought that soothes me below.
