Flanked by high Golan,
Against the Syrian dawn,
You mirror Galilean hills,
And mingle with the Jordan
As it bides with you awhile.
Still lapping Caesar’s quay
And green Kinneret’s plain,
Your waters carry Ephraim again,
recalling Simon and his friends.
Now like Roman glass,
In colour as in mood;
Now wind-whipped,
As when He calmed you from the boat,
You remember much.
But most of all you sing of Him
And what He had to say.
