Its golden gates Wrenched from their hinges and consumed by fire; Shrubs growing in its courts as in a forest; Upon its altars hideous and strange idols; And strewn about its pavement at my feet Its Sacred Books, half burned and painted o'er With images of heathen gods.
JEWS.
Woe! woe! Our beauty and our glory are laid waste! The Gentiles have profaned our holy places! (Lamentation and alarm of trumpets.) JUDAS.
This sound of trumpets, and this lamentation, The heart-cry of a people toward the heavens, Stir me to wrath and vengeance.

Go, my captains; I hold you back no longer.

Batter down The citadel of Antiochus, while here We sweep away his altars and his gods.
SCENE II.

-- JUDAS MACCABAEUS; JASON; JEWS, JEWS.
Lurking among the ruins of the Temple, Deep in its inner courts, we found this man, Clad as High-Priest.
JUDAS.
I ask not who thou art.
I know thy face, writ over with deceit As are these tattered volumes of the Law With heathen images.

A priest of God Wast thou in other days, but thou art now A priest of Satan.