Not always as you see us now,
Have we been used to weep and sigh,
We too have grasped the sword, I trow,
And seen astonished foemen fly!

We too have rushed into the fray,
For our Belief the battle braved,
And through the spears have fought our way,
And high the flag of vict'ry waved.

But generations go and come,
And suns arise and set in tears,
And we are weakened now and dumb,
Foregone the might of ancient years.

In exile where the wicked reign,
Our courage and our pride expired,
But e'en today each throbbing vein
With Asmonean blood is fired.

Tho' cruel hands with mighty flail
Have threshed us, yet we have not blenched:
The sea of blood could naught prevail,
That fire is burning, still unquenched.

Our fall is great, our fall is real,
(You need but look on us to tell!)
Yet in us lives the old Ideal
Which all the nations shall not quell.