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THE lightning is the Schamir
In the hands of the Heavenly King;
The workmen from Tyre and Sidon
Are the winds with the gifts they bring.
And when in the summer evenings
Lightens the western sky,
They are noiselessly cutting the cloud-blocks
To build up His temple on high.
They build it with airy columns,
Shaped in a marvellous wise;
It glitters, incrusted with jewels
That dazzle our wondering eyes.
And while the temple is building,
God's messengers fly below,
As shooting stars to watch it
Silently shape and grow.
Then when the temple is finished,
And the King is to enter in,
They drop a curtain of darkness,
To hide it from earth and sin.
Z.
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