The huge battlemented
walls, encircling the double mounts of Zion and Moriah--the vast
huddle of white houses, covering hill and hollow with their flat
roofs and standing so close together that the streets were hidden
among them--the towers, the colonnades, the terraces--the dark bulk
of the Roman castle--the marble pillars and glittering roof of the
Temple in its broad court on the hilltop--it was a city of stone
and ivory and gold, rising clear against the soft saffron and rose
and violet of the sunset sky.
The Boy sat with his mother on the hillside while the light waned,
and the lamps began to twinkle in the city, the stars to glow in
the deepening blue. He questioned her eagerly--what is that black
tower?--why does the big roof shine so bright?--where was King
David's house?--where are we going to-morrow?
"To-morrow," she answered, "you will see. But now it is the
sleep-time. Let us sing the psalm that we used to sing at night in
Nazareth--but very softly, not to disturb the others--for you know
this psalm is not one of the songs of the pilgrimage.
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