Where now roll billowed seas of sandThe cities of the world once stood,
Fair jewels of a fertile land,
With golden field and shady wood
There mystic guardians of the Nile
Who dream of kingdoms passed away,
Shall slumber yet a little while
To crumble low in swift decay.
And in some far age, vague to see,
The world may know of us no more;
Here, dusty desert waste may be
Where banks of roses bloomed before.
Gone pomp of power and gleam of gems
Torn from deep caverns’ grasp of steel,
Gone all our treasured diadems;
Their worthlessness the years reveal.
Through monuments to kings of old,
Reared to the skies by servile hand,
May sink and rest neath dank and mold,
Enduring still His Word shall stand.