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Updated: April 30, 2025
From the Asmonean's lips burst the words in which the Psalmist has embalmed that love for all generations, Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is Mount Zion, the city of the great King. Mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces; that ye may tell it to the generation following. Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.
Wherever the Asmonean's influence extended, fields were sown or their harvests gathered in peace; the husbandman followed his team, and the shepherd folded his flocks; mothers rejoiced over the infants whom they could now present to the Lord without fear. But again the portentous war-cloud was rolling up from the direction of Antioch.
As there was dignity in the single-mindedness of the character of Judas, so was there power in the very simplicity of his words. I will mar that simplicity by no interpolations of my own, but transfer unaltered to my pages the Asmonean's battle-prayer.
As even in a hard and rocky waste there are spots where rich vegetation betrays some source of hidden nourishment below, and they who dig deep enough under the surface find a spring of bright pure living waters, so deep within the Asmonean's heart lay a hidden source of tenderness which prevented his nature from becoming hardened by the stern necessities of warfare.
Hopes so intensely delightful would then steal over the Asmonean's soul, that he would suddenly start like a sentinel who finds himself dropping asleep on his post. How dared the leader of Israel's forlorn hope indulge in reveries which made him feel how precious a thing life might be to himself, when he had freely devoted that life to the service of God and his country?
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