I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm;
I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm;
I love to wet my foot in Herman's dews;
I love the promptings of Isaiah's muse;
In Carmel's holy grots I'll court repose,
And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless rose.
- J. PIERPONT.
Principal of Shenandoah Collegiate Institute and School of Music
In profound gratitude, this little volume is dedicated to the
memory of William Barakat of Jerusalem.
My faithful, careful dragoman, who in manhood's prime, yet not
many months before his death, guided me in safety, not only during
my trying "Three Days in Gilead," but also throughout an extended
tour otherwhere in his native land - the Holy Land of my faith.
At last, after waiting twenty leaden-winged years from the time in
which a fixed purpose was formed in me to visit the Orient, the
realization came. The year that saw the fulfillment of my
cherished ambition was definitely determined upon eight summers
before it took its place in the calendar of history. Fortune
smiled upon my plan. I was ready. My joy was akin to ecstasy.
Imagine my disappointment when, in the month of May of my chosen
year, 1900, I learned that no agency would organize a tourist
party to move at a time in the summer or autumn that would suit
me! There was but one alternative - to travel independent of any