Dunes and Plate

Upon this land where saints and prophets trod,  
A knight doth stand, in awe of Heaven’s grace
The golden sun, a blessing from our God,  
Doth bathe the hills in light’s divine embrace

The holy soil beneath his armored feet,  
Whence flowed the blood of martyrs, pure and brave,  
Now blooms with life, where earth and heaven meet,  
A garden fair that ancient hands did crave

The olive trees, their branches wide and old,  
Whisper of peace, yet know the taste of strife
The winding rivers, glistening like gold,  
Run swift and clear, as if with sacred life

The air, so sweet, with scents of myrrh and pine,  
Bears memories of ages long since past
The knight, enrapt, beholds this land divine,  
And feels his soul in rapture deep and vast

He sees the walls of cities crowned with light,  
Jerusalem, the jewel of God’s own heart
Its streets, though worn by endless day and night,  
Still shine with hope, where faith and love impart

O Holy Land, thou art a gift most rare,  
A beacon bright for those who seek the way
In thee, the knight finds solace from despair,  
And strength to face the trials of each day

With reverence deep, he bows his helmèd head,  
And offers prayers to Heaven’s holy King
For in this land, where saints and angels tread,  
The knight doth find his soul’s eternal spring