Hebron

I cannot forget the O Jerusalem! there are other hallowed places, within and without thy gates, around which I would love to linger. But I leave them for a few dats for a deeply interesting excursion to Hebron and Bethlehem, the Dead Sea and the Jordan— places with which are associated sweet, sad, and holy memories.----------------------------------- Desending a little further the narrow valley of Esheol, our eyes are soon resting on the city of Hebron—a city that hushed a continuous existence for almost four thousand years, having been built “seven years before Zion in Egypt.” It seems difficult to believe one’s own eyes in the presence of localities so ancient and sacred, while thoughts run back, far back through the ages, and recalls the men the histories, the scenes associated with these places. But here is the reality, positive, evident, unmistakable. This is Hebron— this picturesque city, stretching away on the slope east of the valley, and divided by gardens into two sections. Here lived the father of the faithful, and his son Isaac, and his grandson Jacob; and they were all buried in that cue of Machpelah. There too, their wives were buried— Sarah, Rebeckah, and Leah; and I am looking upon the building that encloses the dust.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On our right, and below us was the village of Urtas and the vale of Etams—a beautiful queer spot, some of it highly cultivated and filled with fruit trees, in bright and variegated bloom, making a sweet contrast with the desolate hillside. Over the gray surface, amidst rocks and ruined terraces, we journed nearly an hour, and—
“Lo, Bethlehem’s hill site before me is seen,
With the mountains around the valley between;
Where instead the shepards of Judah, and where
The songs of the angels rose sweet on the air.”