No longer do we sit on the ash heap,
But we are even still below,
Standing victoriously in the place of defeat,
Yet, no longer wailing our sorrow.

The golden dome shines triumphant,
Stronghold of Ishmael,
Symbol of the enemy, defiant,
Guarded zealously by Israel.

The Arabs strenuously object
To any form of Jewish prayer.
For, after all, the Jew is a reject,
Placed afar from divine care.

They cling to Islamic arrogance,
But their fear is quite tangible;
Could there really be some significance
In the return of the children of Israel?

At the gate a Jewish soldier stands guard;
To him it is simply no matter.
Holy mountain of Israel's G-d?
"No longer," he mocks with laughter.

I turn away in tears of heartbreak
...and Yours, too, my L-rd?
The Temple was built for Your sake,
In accordance with Your Word.

Shock lines an onlooker's face.
"We need a miracle!" he mumbles.
Tears sting my eyes in disgrace;
His words, my spirit humbles.