The Weeping Sun of Absalom

In Gilead unfolding,
The wood of Ephraim boding,
The fields of David’s loathing,
In tattered royal clothing,
Sits Absalom, the general
Besmirched son of Israel

Golden and most handsome,
the kingdom’s brightest star

Poor Tamar! Poor Amnon!
Sweet Absalom, I know!
Poor Israel! Poor Judah!
G-d must hate thee so!

In Hebron, all-commencing,
The shadows ever-sensing
That you, now David’s oldest son
Should hold the throne, not Solomon
Sweet Absalom, the general
Begrudged son of Israel

The kingdom held for ransom,
by the golden son and star

O, Absalom! You sinner!
The tears of rebel wrath!
O, Absalom! You traitor!
The flush of ancient past!

In Gilead unfolding,
The river Jordan soaring,
The Valley of Jehoshaphat
Where Hushai, traitor, knelt and sat,
You spat upon Ahithophel
And thus, you rightly fell

As spears claim your noble heart,
Heaven weeps with golden stars