Nigh pristine still,
these ancient stones arrest the sons of Abraham,
and bid them weep,
for they have lost their calling:
the house they held aloft is swept away
as once its builder’s nation was,
and grief is here enshrined.
Yet cherished for the witness that they bear,
they outlive siege and sacking,
and stay through changing rule;
for what they have to say transcends such passing wounds,
and sings of ceaseless love.
“HaShem’s abode is not in stone” they cry,
“but in His children!”
