Photo: Wikipedia

Photo: Wikipedia

The Land lay still,
As if in a summer night’s dream,
Its shallow valleys,
Could not be seen,
For years it tried,
And tried again,
To gather strength,
To understand.

What folly had it undertaken?
Why were its people dying?
How had it happened so quickly?
Was this a sign?

When it remembered,
It suddenly awoke,
It stretched out its hand and then it spoke:
“Give me another chance,”
“Don’t let me whither,”
“I’m broken, but I’m not bitter,”
“I’ve tasted misery, been trampled on,”
“But I didn’t give up; I didn’t run,”
“They will come again, will try to break me,”
“But His presence will not forsake me.”

She hearkened to its words as it drew near,
She wanted to hear more,
To lose her fear.
What did this strange land want?
And what would happen?
How much more time? How many more years?

“I know,” it said,
“It can be done but there will be a lot of suffering, a lot of pain,”
“And yet the roadworks shall be cleared”
“And we shall know it wasn’t in vain,”
“New orchards shall be planted,”
“The swamps will dry,”
“We shall hear children’s laughter,”
“Our chests shall swell with pride.”
“We will be one people,”
“Reunited with our Land,”
“Our leaders will be strong,”
“We shall build cities where there was once just dunes and clear
white sands.”

She thought it over,
Didn’t believe it,
But when hard times befell her soul,
Her people perished in the fires,
Her holy garments were torn with wires,
Her children smashed against the walls,
Her women defiled, her brave young men gone forever more,
She thought again and it made sense,
She boarded ships and sailed to unknown lands.

The Land? It’s now 66,
It’s had its share of pain but it still sings,
It sings a song of four thousand years,
It bears it all–the failures and fears,
It knows not what the future holds,
It can’t be lost; it can’t be sold,
The only loyalty it has, is to Her who loves it best,
It has no face, no hands or feet,
It has a soul, forever lit.

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