Normale Version: Solomon
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Then Solomon sat on the throne as king;
So had his sire appointed: - great and least,
Hebrew and Stranger, warrior chief and priest,
With one glad shout make air, earth, rock to ring.

Ah! sons of Abraham, is it such a thing
That your old monarch is so nigh deceased?
And ye must blow your horns, as if the feast
Of the ripe harvest and the hopeful spring

Fell on one day. 'Tis well the old man dies.
The sweetest string in all the holy lyre
Cracks when the old man heaves his latest sighs,

And with his breath the highest tones expire.
Ten thousand minstrels play for Solomon -
What are they all, if David be not one?