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Upon the weary, aching limbs, e'en thenIt were a curse; but when it frets through nerveAnd flesh and eats into the weary soul,Oh then it is a thing for every humanHeart to loathe, and this was Israel's fate,For when the chains were shaken from their limbs,They failed to strike the impress from their souls.While he who'd basked beneath the radianceOf a throne, ne'er turned regretful eyes uponThe past, nor sighed to grasp again the pleasuresOnce resigned; but the saddest trial wasTo see the light and joy fade from their facesWhen the faithless spies spread through their campTheir ill report; and when the people weptIn hopeless unbelief and turned their facesEgyptward, and asked a captain from their bandsTo lead them back where they might bind anewTheir broken chains, when God arose and shutThe gates of promise on their lives, and leftTheir bones to bleach beneath Arabia's desert sands.But though they slumbered in the wild, they diedWith broader freedom on their lips, and for theirLittle ones did God reserve the heritageSo rudely thrust aside.
