Dearest homeland, my thoughts fly towards thee;
Wings of gold bear them on to journey’s ending,
Where the sweet scented breezes are blending
In the Green Hills and vales of our land!
Ah to stand by the banks of the Jordan
And to see Sion’s woeful desolation!
O dear land, once the joy of our nation
Now forever lost by fate’s cruel hand.
Golden harps of the prophets and seers of old
Why so silently hang on the willow?
Lift your voice, stir our hearts, let the story be told
Of the times now so long gone and past.
O Jerusalem, blessed city,
When will grief and lamenting be over?
Let our song rise to thee, great Jehovah
Hear the voice of thy people at last,
Hear the voice of thy people at last!