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
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Tug-of-War Team.