Of The Tribe Of Judah Poem by John William Inchbold

Thou fairest daughter of a thousand sires!
Mother of Queens, undying beauty's flower!
A mystery of God whence holy fires
Were kindled that have lit the world with power!
Whilst doomed thyself a wanderer sad to be,
Homeless and lone and crushed of cruel feet
As unknown precious herb that wondrously
Fills all the ambient air with odour sweet:
Thou, in whose eyes we see the world and Time
With all its strength to shock or to allure,
Life's marvel thou! ah when shall cease the crime
Of hating thee, and when wilt thou, being pure
In faith, thine high prerogative attain,
Embrace the Christ and ease thy nation's pain.