Its lands were fruitful; its armies were victorious in battle; and
it had strong kings, wise lawgivers, and great poets. But after a great
many years, everything changed. The nation had no more strong kings, no
more wise lawgivers; its armies were beaten in battle, and neighbouring
tribes conquered the country and took the fruitful lands; there were no
more poets except a few who made songs of lamentation. The people had
become a captive and humiliated people; and the bitterest part of all its
sadness was the memory of past greatness.
But in all the years of failure and humiliation, there was one thing which
kept this people from despair; one hope lived in their hearts and kept
them from utter misery. It was a hope which came from something one of the
great poets of the past had said, in prophecy. This prophecy was whispered
in the homes of the poor, taught in the churches, repeated from father to
son among the rich; it was like a deep, hidden well of comfort in a desert
of suffering. The prophecy said that some time a deliverer should be born
for the nation, a new king even stronger than the old ones, mighty enough
to conquer its enemies, set it free, and bring back the splendid days of
old. This was the hope and expectation all the people looked for; they
waited through the years for the prophecy to come true.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229