Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1875-03-20
For the CHRONICLE.
ORIENTALS.
"0h Jerusalem %

AAAcs
ss0h JerusalemY
Out through the West blew thu
halcyon day. the sky was ike pre-
cious stone. Opals and turquoises are
the earth's effort to remember hel
glories, but opals and turquoises are
dead when from 1.-THE Light" before
US lay stretched, El Kluids, the city
of the Blest, grand, holy, beautiful
Jerusalem. In the white moon are
twined lovely sweets from the garden
of Gethsemane, while Hinnom seems
but as mighty sheet of molten gold,
variegated with glistening diamonds,
the dew of Heaven A solitary muez-
zins cry, kneeling on his saccok, comes
mournfully, as though a voice did
speak from death across the valley of
Jehoshaphat, a wall over the solitary
grave of Absalom. How sadly it
sounded, in primitive force, how ghost
ly echowed from the Mount of Olives.
Pathetically it rises under the soft
Syrian skies, wildly as the faithful
voice screams out "AI-la-hu- AK-bdr "
There is no God but one. But above
dome and mosque and spire and scenes
of beauty arise, a vision, painted by
the hand of memory, on the canvass of
Truth, terrible, grand. sublime. 1t is
a vision of the eleventh century, EN-
bodying the reign of Saladin, Sultan
of the Saracens, with that of his sue
cessor. Looking over the scene you
hear the barbanic elang of the
Crusaders army, while the hush of
this modern twilight is filled with holy
chants and psalms of the slow ad-
vancing Christians, (not with colored
banners, but crosses,) and the hearts
of the Saracens within are chilled by
this strange battle-cry.
Devotedly they gaze upon the scene
in all its beauty. Heaven and earth
seem emulating each other in solemni-
ty and grandeur. Heaven and earth
are full of the inexpressible pathos
that thrills the human heart with
such wild throbs of rapture and gives
him a glimpse into the pleasures aud
emotions of THAT better land"
Under the Syrian Stars this molly
host, acted upon by fierce religious
fury, bow down with one simultaneous
impulse in wild, unearthly reverence,
singing and praising God.
20, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that
stonest the prophets and killest those
that are sent unto thee?" was the
wailing in every heart, while the very
Heavens in a responsive tone echoed
the moan, shedding tears, rendered
crimson by the rOseate flush "of the
full blown moon," and which seemed
as if about to crystalize from excessive
grief. But lo the vision changes,
trumpet and alarm raise the bowling
host, and the snorting steed Crews
frantic with excitement. The red
banner of battle is unfurled, the quick
kissing slash of the broad sword seems
as if about to sever the air in twain,
while the yell of the Saracens and the
chant of the Christian mingles strange
ly with the surrounding confusion.
The red blood has dyed the cross till
flaming mass of gore it seems as
though the Saviour of men had just
descended. The hereto sees, and for
one brief moment, a fendish yell
browns the psalms and chants of the
Christians, when they too see the
cause of the unusual outburst, their
eyes are dimmed with bloody tears,
their resolute voices tremble and fail,
and then, all again is slaughter.
The vision changes once more. An
odor, as of rose-water. peryades the
atmosphere, you are seized in its vo-
luptious embrace. dazzled by the bril-
liant flames. motionless in the warm
air, while the sheen of tapestry and
the fexile richness of robes glitter
and shine under the moons resplend-
ence. A long procession files from
the gates, and tremblingly the voice
of the muezzin vibrates on the air.
'Tis Saladin, Sultan of the Saracens,
who is purifying the Mosque of Omar,
who is laughing to scOrn the Chris
tians and their religion, and dragging
their cross in the mire; and yet who
greets them after their defeat in all
the splendour and magnifcence of
oriental hospitality, and then permits
them to depart, loaded with presents
and costly gifts. The vision vanishes,
aud then you stand on the slight emf
nence, gazing on this scene of blood
shed and carnage, sleeping as quietly
under the moon-beams as if no drop
of blood had ever dyed its plain or the
war-cry and dsath.wail never been
heard around its walls, while the moan
of the muezzin, kneeling on his saccOk,
over the grave of Absalcm, echoes
omniously on the weird wild silence
around. The warm sweet air, in which
you stand is iilled with strange, un-
heard music,
"Divinely warbled voice
Answeringa stringed noise."
and yet you know It's there.
Truly,
HAROUN Ell RAsHID.
GOVERNOR BEvERIDGE, of Illinois,