David’s Lament

LET the voice of the mourner be heard on the mountain,

And woe breathe her sigh over Besor’s blue wave;

Upon Gilboa’s hill there is opened a fountain,

And its fast-flowing stream is the blood of the brave!

Oh! dry be that hill from the rains of the morning,

On its brow may no dew of the evening fall,

But the warriors of Israel, from conquest returning,

View herbless and withered the death-place of Saul!

From the borders of Judah let gladness be banished,

Ye maidens of Israel, be deep in your woe;

For the pride of the mighty in battle is vanished,

The chief of the sword, and the lord of the bow.

And long shall the chieftains of Gilead deplore them,

And mourn the dark fate of the high and the brave;

The song of the minstrel will oft be breathed o’er them,

And holy the tear that shall fall on their grave.