Jerusalem
So old and worn
By centuries of rise and fall
Your stones stand bullet pocked
Against the scudded skies
That shed a shadowed light
Upon your still proud walls.

Jerusalem
Yours are the labour pains
Of universal suffering
Of poverty and wealth
an Armaggedon
presaging the coming birth of
bridal glory that is yours.
Accompanied by praising flames
That burn away the present warful dross
In all-consuming light.
And you, Jerusalem, will rise
Enfolding the redeemed
As he who made the skies
Makes all things new.

Then with the angels
All the universe will sing:
“Jerusalem the golden!”
poem by Harry Wiggett