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SELECTED POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 AARON SCHAFFER 
 
 ARTIetV6RITAn| 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 THE POET LORE COMPANY 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
Copyright, 1916, by Aaron Schaffer 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 
 FES' "9 1916 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 
To my beloved parents, 
 
 who, by their piety and attachment to all 
 
 that is good and beautiful in life, letters, 
 
 and religion, 
 
 have inspired me to emulate them, 
 
 this little volume is affectionately inscribed. 
 
Life's a most wonderful game, indeed. 
 Where one finds the flower and one the lueed; 
 But whatever our lot, in Life or Love, 
 Remember it comes from God above. 
 
Lifers a most wonderful game, indeed. 
 Where one finds the flower and one the lueed; 
 But whatever our lot, in Life or Love, 
 Remember it comes from God above. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Heroes 9 
 
 An Appreciation 14 
 
 Paraphrase 15 
 
 Original Strophe 16 
 
 The Golden Key 17 
 
 The Poet's Dream 18 
 
 Twenty Years 19 
 
 Past, Present and Future 20 
 
 The Sabbath 21 
 
 Mateo Falcone 22 
 
 Prothalamion 27 
 
 The Silver Lining 29 
 
 Spectres 30 
 
 The Rabbi 31 
 
 The Eagle and the Buzzard 32 
 
 Macrocosm and Microcosm 34 
 
 Contrasts 35 
 
 The Four Elements 36 
 
 Fear 37 
 
 A Tragedy of the Streets 38 
 
 To a Friend 40 
 
 Thoughts Inspired by a Rainy Day 41 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Love Triumphant Over Space 42 
 
 For Her God 43 
 
 Snow In April 45 
 
 A Tale 46 
 
 The First Day of Summer 47 
 
 Rain in the Mountains 48 
 
 The New Moon 49 
 
 The Hebrew Language 50 
 
 Modern Poetry 51 
 
 Retrospect 53 
 
SELECTED POEMS 
 
HEROES 
 
 A youth of noble, ancient line was he ; 
 
 His family of proudest Jewish stock ; 
 
 His God, the mighty God of Israel 
 
 Who centuries agone, midst smoke and flame. 
 
 His law delivered to His chosen people. 
 
 To Moses, on the top of Sinai hoar. 
 
 This God had uttered precepts new and lofty. 
 
 "I am the Lord who brought thee out of bondage," 
 
 ''Honor thy parents," ''Sanctify the Sabbath;" 
 
 But none so god-like as this great commandment: 
 
 "Thou shalt not kill" — respect thy fellowman. 
 
 The youth of Jewish stock, of ancient line, 
 
 Did love his God, his brothers, and his duty ; 
 
 A solemn vow he pledged on thirteenth birthday 
 
 To keep the laws which God had given him. 
 
 His fellowman he loved as his own self. 
 
 And would not hurt the weakest of God's creatures. 
 
 He studied eagerly, and soon became 
 
 Proficient in the learning of the sages 
 
 As well as in the field of medicine. 
 
 Respected and revered by all who knew him. 
 
 One day an awful deed burst into light; 
 
 An anarchistic boy, with smoking pistol, 
 
 Snuffed out the life of Austria's noble heir 
 
 And of his wife, the charming Hapsburg duchess; 
 
 Straightway the noise was spread about 'mongst men 
 
 That Serbia was the real criminal, 
 
 The reckless student but a feeble tool 
 
 Of plotters high in governmental circles. 
 
 Of thrones and crowns, of kings and chancellors. 
 
Apology did Austria demand 
 
 From Serbia, and right t' investigate 
 
 A crime so heinous, hellish, and depraved ; 
 
 The little nation, now become conceited. 
 
 Backed up by Russia's secret promises 
 
 To give her aid if needed, here refused 
 
 To grant her neighbor's wishes in the matter. 
 
 With show of bloody arms as confirmation. 
 
 The torch of civ'lization was extinguished; 
 
 One student had o'erthrown a law of God 
 
 And nations emulated his base sin; 
 
 No longer now "Thou shalt not kill" is heard. 
 
 But "Blood, revenge, our enemies must be crushed !" 
 
 The bonds of love and friendship all are severed. 
 
 Hate rules supreme in Europe's fair domain. 
 
 The mighty rulers. Kaiser, King, and Czar, 
 Called forth their troops, division and brigade. 
 Each man, eighteen to fifty, rallied round 
 The standards held in awful reverence ; 
 Pitched battles, taking place on land and sea, 
 In air and water, make a hell of earth. 
 
 In all the clashing armies stand the Jews, 
 Fighting, son against father, brother 'gainst brother; 
 Most miserable they of all the world, 
 Suffering wounds in every vital organ, 
 Hoping firmly the return of peace. 
 
 The noble Jewish youth fought for the Kaiser, 
 Fought valiantly at Namur and at Antwerp, 
 But in the bloody raid upon the coast 
 Was sorely wounded, bullet in his breast. 
 
 lO 
 
To hospital In Brussels he was taken; 
 While lying here the Kaiser, visiting, 
 Pinned on his battered breast the Iron Cross. 
 
 Another week or so, and then, alas! 
 His soul was guided into Paradise. 
 
 This but begins the fearful tragedy. 
 
 The body, convoyed to the father's home. 
 Was kept in state a day and then was buried 
 According to the ancient Jewish rites. 
 The relatives wept long and bitterly 
 But finally resigned themselves to fate 
 And sang in praise of God, Prime Cause of all. 
 Only the aged father, reverend sire. 
 Well-known as scholar, Jew, philosopher. 
 Whose greatest pride was in his youngest son. 
 That son who had been killed cold-bloodedly. 
 Th e father alone refused to be consoled. 
 
 There is a very ancient Jewish law 
 That when a member of the family, — 
 Father, mother, sister, brother, son, 
 Wife, or daughter, — dies, the others straightway 
 Seven days must mourn, sit Shiva, as 'tis called. 
 Nor ever leave the house, nor read aught else 
 But what is writ in books of Holy Scripture, 
 And while away the time by thinking deeply 
 On life and death, on why and when and how. 
 In prayer for the soul of the departed. 
 
 II 
 
This father, then, began to meditate 
 
 Upon his son, now tasting joys of Heaven; 
 
 Remembered how the birth had been so painful, 
 
 So dangerous for his wife, the gentle lady ; 
 
 Recalled the days of happy infancy 
 
 When the sweet babe did love to ride the knee 
 
 Of careful father handling him like glass, 
 
 And how he, wont to pluck the old man's beard, 
 
 Did listen to the ticking of his watch. 
 
 And now the infant grows into a boy, 
 Active and sturdy, but withal kind and gen'rous; 
 The father thinks, 'tis time he went to school. 
 And goes to see a well-known pedagogue 
 With whom he places his beloved son. 
 To teach him rudiments of Hebrew lore. 
 As well as knowledge secular, profane. 
 Arithmetic and history and writing. 
 
 The boy, an eager student, learns apace, 
 Progresses swiftly In his daily work. 
 But does not study In his books alone. 
 The cheering book of Nature, handiwork 
 Of God, he contemplates with childish awe. 
 And soon Is filled with zeal and hot desire 
 To learn the workings of the human body. 
 
 His father willingly consents to this. 
 
 The youth completes his elementary course 
 
 High up In scholarship, and soon applies 
 
 For entrance to a university 
 
 Where he might study, to his heart's desire, 
 
 The field of medicine, under great instructors. 
 
 12 
 
But three short years, and now he is a doctor, 
 Famous for honesty and diligence. 
 But celebrated more for true adherence 
 Unto the doctrines taught him by his father, 
 The precepts of the ancient Jewish law. 
 
 Then comes the fearful clarion call of war, 
 That relic of a brutal, barbarous age; 
 With ready step, with love for fatherland, 
 This patriotic Jew responded nobly. 
 
 Much hardship did he suffer in the trenches, 
 Fired at incessantly by hostile bullets. 
 Until at last he fell beside his comrades. 
 
 The hospital, the Iron Cross, then death. 
 This, all this, the poor old sire remembered. 
 
 The fourth day of Shiva he himself was dead. 
 
 13 
 
AN APPRECIATION 
 
 A sight, most pleasing in the eyes of God 
 
 And giving joy to the hearts of man, 
 
 Is the woman, at once wife, mother, and friend — 
 
 A leader in life's eternal caravan. 
 
 As wife, she lightens her spouse's cares; 
 Always ready to do his will 
 She makes him feel like a king among men ; 
 At the fount of delight he drinks his fill. 
 
 The halo of motherhood shines on her brow; 
 Her offsprings, begotten in anguish and pain, 
 Are the joy of her being, the pride of her life; 
 She labors to strengthen them, body and brain. 
 
 Still one other duty she brightly fulfills — 
 She gathers about her a circle of friends. 
 Who, noting the cheerful example she sets. 
 Make use of the treasure she willingly lends. 
 
 Of all of the creatures our great Maker fashioned, 
 The one upon whom the most toil he did spend, 
 The master-production of heavenly genius. 
 Is the thrice-blessed woman — wife, mother, and 
 friend. 
 
PARAPHRASE 
 
 Of Jehuda Halevis "Libi Bemisrach"* 
 
 While I In western lands do pine, 
 
 My heart is in the East! 
 How can I taste of food and wine, 
 
 When thou art sore oppress'd? 
 How can I vows and oaths repay, 
 
 While Edom Zion holds, 
 While Arab's bond my land doth sway. 
 
 His chain me tight enfolds? 
 Th' abundance of this Spanish land 
 
 Would be but nought to me, 
 If I, 'midst brimming tears, thy strand, 
 
 Thy ruined strand could see. 
 
 * Jehuda Halevi was one of the most famous He- 
 brew poets and philosophers of mediaeval Spain. His 
 poem, ''Libi Bemisrach'' {"My Heart is in the 
 East'') is considered by all the most beautiful of 
 the large number of Hebrew poems which express 
 a longing for the Holy Land. 
 
 15 
 
ORIGINAL STROPHE 
 
 Patterned on Jehuda Halevi's "Libi Bemisrah" 
 
 Great Poet! Thou wert filled with love 
 
 For Zion and her God; 
 
 Thy blessed soul now rests above 
 
 This earth, this mortal clod. 
 
 To-day the same ideal fills 
 
 The Jew in every land ; 
 
 Towards her fields, her glorious hills, 
 
 He stretches forth his hand ; 
 
 And, just as thou, he'd suiiEer death,* 
 
 Her smiling face to view; 
 
 The land wherein he first drew breath, 
 
 The soil whereon he grew! 
 
 ^According to a popular tradition, Jehuda Halevi 
 was killed just outside the gates of Jerusalem, after 
 he had sacrificed a loving family, affluence, and high 
 esteem, to carry out the wish that actuated his whole 
 life and most of his poetry, namely, to make a pil- 
 grimage to the Holy Land. 
 
 i6 
 
THE GOLDEN KEY 
 
 {Phi Beta Kappa) 
 
 ''Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain. 
 The golden opes, the iron shuts amain/' 
 
 — Lycidas. 
 
 Thou golden key, thou openest the door 
 Of treasure-rooms piled high with learning's riches, 
 Of those bright realms where fancy loves to soar. 
 Where grey-beard knowledge truth and beauty 
 
 teaches. 
 Reward thou art for work thus far well-done, 
 For conscientious sojourn with the Muses ; 
 A sign of hours spent beneath the sun 
 Of all that dazzling lore the student uses. 
 A stimulant art thou, a strong incentive, 
 To future deeds that far outstrip the past; 
 'Gainst idleness infallible preventive, 
 A guide-post pointing to the pure and chaste. 
 Though but a bauble in man's estimation. 
 Thou symbolizest God and His creation. 
 
 17 
 
THE POET'S DREAM 
 
 I sit and gaze, in raptured thrall, 
 
 Reclining in my study. 
 At pictures ranged along the wall,- 
 
 Italian Titians ruddy. 
 
 Sir Joshua's laughing angel faces, 
 Watteau's pastoral pictures, — . 
 
 I long to be in those bright places, 
 And, forming bold conjectures, 
 
 I hope, that some day I might be 
 An artist, with deep feelings 
 
 For brights and darks in all I see 
 In mankind's hourly dealings. 
 
 i8 
 
TWENTY YEARS 
 
 When we look back o'er such a span of time, 
 Remember to what heights we hoped to climb, 
 Recall our fears, ambitions, vain desires. 
 Some hopes fulfilled, some burnt on funeral pyres. 
 We oft are tempted, filled with doubts uncertain, 
 To raise the hem and peer behind the curtain 
 Of future years, in melancholy wonder 
 At whether life will be but one long blunder. 
 As thus far it has been. And yet we hope 
 For better days, and in the darkness grope 
 To find the pearls our youth has dimly sensed; 
 Perhaps the sum of life may be condensed 
 In one or two short words. When lo, behold ! 
 A glorious rainbow warms the ether cold, 
 A magic heat shoots through our deadened veins, 
 Ambition rears its drooping head, and deigns 
 To stir the smold'ring ashes of our youth, 
 Renews in us the striving after truth. 
 Our selves no longer are our sole desire. 
 Our hearts and souls are kindled by that fire 
 That made of Eve a queen to Adam, king, 
 A fire whose heat refines each earthy thing. 
 We know now to what end we were created. 
 We know why empty hopes our minds inflated, 
 We feel the meaning and the cause of all. 
 We see the end, and hear the mighty call. 
 We wonder why philosophers have failed 
 To realize this truth, have always railed 
 At God and His creation, we, who know 
 That God can be discerned by none below 
 Except by us in whom a glowing spark 
 Of His paternal love lights up the dark; 
 We've solved life's riddle, henceforth we but prove 
 That life and death and God and man are love. 
 19 
 
PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE 
 
 Our poets oft have sung, 
 
 With sad and quaking voice, 
 Of the days when earth and they were young, 
 
 When each man had his choice 
 Of maidens fair and riches rife, 
 
 Those days, say they, are gone; 
 Existence now is one long strife, 
 
 Defeat of brain by brawn. 
 
 But love is not yet dead. 
 
 The world is no mere prison; 
 The ills of bygone days are fled, 
 
 A brighter age has risen ; 
 The last great war is being fought, 
 
 And then, when this is ended. 
 No more will lives and souls be bought. 
 
 Nor blood with hatred blended. 
 
 In everlasting peace 
 
 The wounds of man will heal; 
 The fight for power and gold will cease, 
 
 All nations low will kneel 
 To God, our Father, loving, kind; 
 
 And Art, his dearest daughter. 
 Will captivate man's heart and mind, 
 
 Succeed the reign of slaughter. 
 
 20 
 
THE SABBATH 
 
 Come, O bride, thou princess fair, 
 
 Waft me through the muddy reek 
 
 Of daily life, of toil and care. 
 
 At thy bright side pure joy to seek. 
 
 Blissful rest and happiness. 
 
 Comfort, ease, and kindly smiles, 
 
 Follow in thy train, and bless 
 
 The man whom thy sweet face beguiles. 
 
 Unclean thoughts are laid aside 
 
 At thy approach, and mortals climb 
 
 Through altitudes as yet untried. 
 
 To reach the Presence, all-sublime. 
 
 Come, my bride, come smile on me, 
 
 Cleanse me with thy virgin hand ; 
 
 Make me what I long to be, — 
 
 Servant to God's and man's command. 
 
 21 
 
MATEO FALCONE 
 
 A league or two from Porto Vecchio, 
 In Corsica, that land of hate and foe, 
 Where bandits prowl, unharmed, in thickets wild, 
 Protected from gendarmes by man and child. 
 Lived Mateo Falcone, idle, rich, 
 His wife, Guiseppa, trained to cook and stitch, 
 And Fortunato, only son, beloved, 
 Although but ten years old, a lad well-proved. 
 This Mateo was known and feared by all, 
 Unerring with the gun and powder ball, 
 A man whose past was dark, who'd won his wife 
 By means of bloody force and loss of life. 
 
 One autumn day, Falcone and his spouse, 
 In shearing time, went out, and left the house 
 Alone, except for Fortunato, who 
 Had begged in vain to be allowed to go. 
 The lad lay idly stretched upon the ground 
 Before the house, when suddenly the sound 
 Of gunshots, loud and near, was heard below. 
 Proceeding from the plain of Vecchio. 
 He rose and looked about, and soon perceived 
 A bearded mountaineer, in tatters, grieved; 
 A wounded bandit, leaning on his gun. 
 Was making painful, vain attempts to run 
 From "voltigeurs," outstripped, in hot pursuit, 
 Who momently were gaining on the brute. 
 Gianetto Sanpiero was his name; 
 An outlaw he, a man of evil fame. 
 Accosting Fortunato, quick he begged 
 The lad to hide him from the yellow-legged 
 Gendarmes, and thus uphold the well-known power 
 
 22 
 
Of Mateo to help in evil hour. 
 
 "What will you give?" the fearless child began; 
 
 ''This five-franc piece for you, my little man." 
 
 "Fear nothing, I will hide you; come, be quick!" 
 
 He pushed aside some hay within a rick 
 
 That leaned against the house, the thief crawled 
 
 in; 
 The child lay back, considering not a sin 
 What he had just performed, but smiled serene, 
 Awaited patiently the coming scene. 
 
 Some moments later, soldiers, out of breath. 
 Led by Lieutenant Gamba, stalking death. 
 Approached Falcone's house, before which lay 
 The lad, hard by the man-concealing hay. 
 "Hast seen a wight go by?" the soldier asked; 
 Sly Fortunato, face and features masked 
 In cool nonchalance, bandied words, "Who 
 
 knows?" 
 The soldiers searched the house, and Gamba rose 
 To go, his anger bursting forth in threats: 
 "My boy, I hope this brings you no regrets." 
 But seeing that his threats left no effect, 
 He changed his plan, and became more circum- 
 spect. 
 A Corsican himself, he knew full well 
 The greed and envy that each bosom swell 
 Of child and adult on that cursed isle. 
 Whence Bonaparte, that man of blood and guile. 
 Had sprung, to cast a smirch on Earth's fair face. 
 The captain, Gamba, knowing well his race, 
 Drew from a pouch a precious silver watch. 
 By means of which he hoped to make his catch. 
 "How wouldst thou like to have a watch like this? 
 
 23 
 
Would it not bring you happiness and bliss 
 
 To see the lads of Porto Vecchio crane 
 
 Their necks, and blink their eyes, in vain 
 
 Desire to have the bauble?" Gamba smiled, 
 
 And held the watch before the hungry child. 
 
 Poor Fortunate, torn by struggle fierce 
 
 'Tw^ixt greed and plighted word, tried hard to pierce 
 
 The veil, and learn which side his duty lay, 
 
 A task one would by no means call child's play. 
 
 With heaving breast, he eyed the watch and chain, 
 
 His childish feelings could not stand the strain 
 
 Of such temptation ; grasping firm the prize, 
 
 He pointed to the rick, and shut his eyes. 
 
 The soldiers, in a flash, were on their prey. 
 
 They dragged him, leering foully, from the hay. 
 
 And bound him firmly, placed him on a litter ; 
 
 In angry scorn, he cursed, with phrases bitter, 
 
 The boy, who threw to him the five-franc piece, 
 
 Feeling that now his ownership did cease. 
 
 But soon two forms were seen approaching slow ; 
 Falcone and Guiseppa, talking low. 
 Were viewing, in astonishment, the sight. 
 That well might fill a braver man with fright. 
 Thinking the soldiers wanted his arrest, 
 Black Mateo advanced, with gun on breast. 
 But Gamba, fearing this man's enmity, 
 Addressed him, speaking loud and heartily; 
 "See here, Falcone! Look whom we have caught! 
 The rogue, Gianetto, who, howe'er, has fought 
 Like any lion, killed one of my men. 
 Broke captain Chardon's arm, and even then 
 Would surely have escaped, had not your son 
 Revealed to us the place where he had run." 
 
 24 
 
"My Fortunate!" Mateo exclaimed. 
 Gianetto, hearing how the boy was blamed, 
 Smiled at Falcone, turned towards the door, 
 Spat on the threshold : "Cursed be the traitor's floor," 
 He hissed, and let the soldiers lead him off. 
 
 Mateo, meanwhile, began to swear and scoff; 
 At Fortunato gazed with steady hate: 
 "A noble action this, thou serpent's mate!" 
 The boy, in terror, clasped his father's knees. 
 Burst into tears, and stammered out his pleas. 
 The father, noticing the watch, roared loud : 
 "Whence hast thou that?" "Lieutenant Gamba 
 
 vowed 
 That I was not committing wrong to tell 
 The whereabouts of such an ape of hell." 
 These words but angered Mateo the more. 
 The watch from out the boy's weak grasp he tore, 
 And dashed it on a rock, at which it broke 
 Into a million bits, then seized the cloak 
 Of weeping Fortunato, dragged him on, 
 Excoriated him, with features drawn: 
 "Follow me, thou traitor, more than traitor, base, 
 The first foul blot upon Falcone's race." 
 Guiseppa, anguished mother, grasped the arm 
 Of Mateo, implored him not to harm 
 Their offspring, Fortunato, born of love, 
 Implored him by the gracious God above. 
 Falcone roughly shook her off, and led 
 The way into a small ravine ahead, 
 Ordered his son to kneel upon a rock. 
 And say his prayers. Prepared his gun to cock, 
 He aimed, with savage coolness, at the child. 
 Now paralyzed and choked with sobbings wild. 
 
 25 
 
''May God forgive you," shouted Mateo, 
 An instant more, the son lay dead below. 
 
 Falcone, heedless, turned and took the road 
 Which led back to his house; no salt tears flowed, 
 A spade he sought, wherewith to dig a grave 
 For Fortunate, once so free and brave. 
 He met Guiseppa, who, alarmed and pale, 
 But looked at him, knew all, began to quail. 
 "Alas, what have you done, unfeeling man?" 
 "Justice," he answered ; "summon all my clan, 
 And show them how Falcone punishes 
 The one who acts in fashion treacherous." 
 
 26 
 
PROTHALAMION 
 
 When God first breathed into a lump of clay 
 
 That spark divine which made of it a Man, 
 He straightway gave unto this being sway 
 
 O'er all the lower creatures of His plan; 
 But soon this ''thinking animal" did feel 
 
 A longing for a mate to share his lot; 
 The wise Creator heard his mute appeal, 
 
 And sent a wife to sanctify the spot. 
 
 Out of this blissful union sprang our world, — 
 
 A world of joys and sorrows, loves and hates, 
 Whose habitants are tossed about and hurled 
 
 Upon the waves of life and varying fates; 
 How could that puny creature, man, unaided. 
 
 Withstand the shocks and batterings of Time? 
 How soon would he become fatigued and jaded, 
 
 Did he not have a goal whereto to climb? 
 
 What is this goal, this burning stimulant, 
 
 WTiereby the fires of life are kept ablaze? 
 'Tis love, undying love, that glorious plant, 
 
 The seeds of which are sown in man's first days 
 Its sap he draws from out his mother's breasts. 
 
 When, in his infancy, he knows not why 
 He drinks, nor what, but merely drinks and rests 
 
 Content, in ignorance of what is nigh. 
 
 His childhood days are sheltered by the love 
 Of watchful parents, careful for the future; 
 
 From them he learns of God who dwells above, 
 And of the wondrous plan of Mother Nature; 
 
 27 
 
He soon begins to feel the harmony 
 
 That joins all things within the universe, 
 
 His pulses leap with overflowing glee, 
 He sees the blessing only, not the curse. 
 
 With high ambition manhood's realms he enters, 
 
 Resolved to win himself unending fame; 
 Not now his love on ties of home-life centers. 
 
 His heart is heated by another flame; 
 The call of Nature weaves its magic o'er him, 
 
 The law of "like to like" points out the way, 
 A noble consort he sees waiting for him. 
 
 Impatient, he makes ready for the fray. 
 
 Stirred on by longing for connubial bliss. 
 
 He makes his way, o'erstepping obstacles; 
 He heedeth not his steps, though oft amiss. 
 
 For they are drawn as though by tentacles; 
 Meanwhile, the object of his love, the maid. 
 
 Has fervently been waiting for the time 
 When, with her lover, eager, unafraid. 
 
 The two as one might strive for the sublime. 
 
 And thus once more God's mandate is fulfilled, 
 
 The blushing maid has now become a wife; 
 Omniscient Nature bless what she has willed. 
 
 And grant her children happiness in life! 
 For well can she be proud of this young pair, 
 
 A man and maid endowed with noble traits, 
 A beacon light of all that's good and fair, 
 
 God send them offspring worthy of such mates! 
 
 28 
 
THE SILVER LINING 
 
 Why pine for the days that are no more, 
 
 When better days are here? 
 Just think what the future has in store, 
 
 And cast away base fear. 
 The world, indeed, is full of hate and greed, 
 
 For those who look not above; 
 But should we not, therefore, toil and bleed. 
 
 To win our ideal of love? 
 
 Leave base repinings, sullen looks. 
 
 To the seekers of golden dross; 
 The sun's warm rays, the dimpling brooks, 
 
 Call us to the fields and moss; 
 And hand in hand, through our fairyland, 
 
 We'll trip and dance along. 
 Till we find the magic cob-web wand 
 
 That will turn the world into song. 
 
 2Q 
 
SPECTRES 
 
 1 walked by night past graves and mounds 
 
 On Gettysburg's now sacred field; 
 
 The air was full of whispered sounds, 
 
 Strange sights were to my eyes revealed. 
 
 Trees rustled, 
 
 Winds whistled, 
 
 And fear well-nigh my limbs congealed. 
 
 I crouched beside a worn tomb-stone, 
 
 I peeped about, I saw dim forms 
 
 In tattered garments; groan on groan 
 
 Escaped their hollow lips; in swarms 
 
 They walked. 
 
 And talked 
 
 Of dangers caused by war's fierce storms. 
 
 "I hear that Europe's all inflamed," 
 
 A one-armed, shrill-voiced spectre spoke; 
 
 "They say there's no one to be blamed," 
 
 Was still another's ghastly croak; 
 
 Some wondered. 
 
 Some pondered. 
 
 Recalling wounds and battle-smoke. 
 
 "God help the sufif'ring wives at home," 
 
 'Twas one of Pickett's men said this; 
 
 And, "Curses on the hideous gnome 
 
 That tears the child from father's kiss." 
 
 Then moaning 
 
 And groaning, 
 
 They sought again the grave's cold bliss. 
 
 30 
 
THE RABBI 
 
 A tower of strength and faith he stands, 
 No task too arduous for his hands, 
 No problem for his brain too hard ; 
 With loving care he tends his flock, 
 A man 'mongst men, despite his frock. 
 The helpless always he doth guard. 
 
 The God of Israel is his staff. 
 And with His help he turns to chafi 
 The schemes of enemies malign; 
 In time of joy, in time of need. 
 One maxim only does he heed: 
 "The law of God is sweet as wine." 
 
 In law and order is his trust, 
 For he who knows the Torah* must 
 Love God, himself, and fellow-men; 
 No force can shake his firm belief. 
 He knows man's stay on earth is brief, 
 And tries to do the work of ten. 
 
 Lives there a soul, agnostic, rude. 
 Who, in his reasonings harsh and crude, 
 Denies that there's a God above? 
 Let him but ponder the rabbi's ways, 
 His studious nights, his busy days. 
 His actions brimming o'er with love. 
 
 *"Torah'^ is the Hebrew word for Law^ and signi- 
 fies the Five Books of Moses. 
 
 31 
 
THE EAGLE AND THE BUZZARD 
 
 {A Fable with a Moral) 
 
 High on a mountain peak an Eagle had its nest, 
 Below it, at the base, fierce animals roamed free ; 
 A shaggy Bear on one side grumbled without rest. 
 While on the other snarled a Wolf in misery; 
 Within the valley's depths a Lake shone silvery, 
 And on the farther bank a hungry Buzzard cawed. 
 Gazing with greedy eyes across the distance broad. 
 
 These three malicious beasts, — the Buzzard, Wolf, 
 
 and Bear, — 
 Had formed a plot to drive the Eagle from his eyrie; 
 They sent a puny Dog to bark at him and tear. 
 Which made the lordly Eagle burn with anger fiery. 
 So that he showed to them his body, strong and wiry ; 
 The Buzzard bade his friends, the Bear and Wolf, 
 
 attack. 
 Straightway they leaped upon the Eagle, front and 
 
 back. 
 
 And when the vicious fray in earnest had begun. 
 The Buzzard, though afraid, no longer could refrain 
 From entering the fight, for fear his friends might 
 
 run; 
 He saw the deadly foe belaboring the twain ; 
 In anguish and despair, the three use might and main, 
 With talons, claws, and teeth, to strike the noble Ea- 
 gle; 
 They fight with tricks and schemes and ambushes il- 
 legal. 
 
 32 
 
The Eagle, undismayed, the en^my repels, 
 
 With one quick swoop to right he plucks the Bear's 
 
 eye out, 
 With one swift dash to left the craven Wolf he fells, 
 The battle soon assumes the likeness of a rout ; 
 The Buzzard, filled with fright at this resistance 
 
 stout. 
 Bewails the strife and calls the other Beasts to aid ; 
 The Eagle presses on, prepared and unafraid. 
 
 33 
 
MACROCOSM AND MICROCOSM 
 
 Is Nature pulsing once more with vigor renewed, 
 
 Or is it, rather, the violent beat of my heart? 
 Are those green shoots I see the beginnings rude 
 Of leaves and blossoms that soon will awake with 
 a start, 
 Or are they merely reflections of new-born hopes 
 That fill my breast with desire, my soul with de- 
 light? 
 Am I like the tree that in winter blindly gropes, 
 With its gaunt, bleak arms outstretched, for the 
 sun's warm light? 
 Answer these questions for me, philosopher wise, 
 
 For I cannot answer them now, nor shall I ever, 
 As long as, each year, the earth from deep sleep 
 doth rise, 
 As long as in youth, each year, there stirs a new 
 fever. 
 
 34 
 
CONTRASTS 
 
 One night I attended a lecture on Browning, 
 The audience was small and the listeners cold ; 
 One woman was nodding, another was frowning, 
 While the men did not seem to be able to hold 
 The lecturer's vague explanations and phrases; 
 And yet at the close of the talk all seemed pleased ; 
 They gushed forth in rivers and oceans of praises, 
 They talked as if each doubtful meaning they'd 
 
 seized. 
 "What's this!" exclaimed I to my wondering self, 
 "Are these people wizards of knowledge and lore? 
 They claim to have grasped all the words of this elf. 
 Yet, deep in their hearts, they believe him a bore." 
 These facts left a lasting effect on my mind, 
 They showed me the ways of one-half of mankind. 
 
 The next night I witnessed prize-fighters in action, 
 The hall overflowed with a big, howling mob ; 
 Each time one man struck, the uproar of his faction 
 Was so loud and so long that it made the walls throb. 
 The sight of red blood filled the crowd with delight. 
 It urged and it cursed and it swore and it joked, 
 It seemed to be ready to stay there all night; 
 In the smoke-laden atmosphere I well-nigh choked. 
 "Good God!" I exclaimed, as I parted that morn, 
 "These brutes all about me have spent what they call 
 An evening of pleasure, in seeing men torn. 
 In hearing the thud of the glove and the fall." 
 Since then I'm in doubt as to which way is proper, 
 The way of false gold or the way of pure copper. 
 
 35 
 
THE FOUR ELEMENTS 
 
 Ah, how beautiful Is life! 
 Life with all its joy and strife, 
 Life as man, as maid, as wife — 
 Life! 
 
 Ah, how glorious is battle! 
 Roar of man and bleat of cattle. 
 Mother's croon and baby's prattle — 
 Battle! 
 
 Ah, how wonderful is art! 
 Plastic, thrilling soul and heart. 
 The all, the one, the whole, the part- 
 Art! 
 
 Ah, how excellent Is love! 
 Love is life's most perfect move. 
 Love its art through strife doth prove- 
 Love! 
 
 36 
 
' FEAR 
 
 I sat before my blazing fire, 
 
 The flames were leaping higher, higher, 
 
 I \vatched with eager gaze; 
 When, lo ! from out the bluish smoke 
 A vague, mysterious figure broke; 
 I felt myself begin to choke. 
 
 My mind enwrapped in haze. 
 
 The figure hovered in the air. 
 Its form was soft, its body bare, 
 
 It drew me gently on; 
 I followed at its beck and nod, 
 I grasped its long, unbending rod, 
 I heard it call, I felt it prod — 
 
 I wished that it were gone. 
 
 I plucked the rod from out its hand, 
 It changed into a burning brand, 
 
 And singed my clothes and flesh ; 
 I shrieked with pain, I howled with fear, 
 I knew no longer joy or cheer, 
 My life must henceforth be so drear — 
 
 Death had me in his mesh. 
 
 I grovelled low before the form, 
 I sensed a dim, impending storm, 
 
 I prayed and moaned and wept; 
 My heart was beating loud and wild, 
 I had less courage than a child, — 
 When suddenly I woke and smiled, 
 
 I knew that I had slept. 
 
 37 
 
A TRAGEDY OF THE STREETS 
 
 {An Exper'unent in the Spencerian Stanza) 
 
 The earth had donned a snowy-sleety cloak 
 On which a million divers paths were printed ; 
 Across the lake a whirling tempest broke, 
 While through the clouds a feeble sunbeam glinted ; 
 The street-cars clanged, and, moaning, clearly 
 
 hinted 
 That electricity must needs succumb 
 To Nature's elemental force unstinted ; 
 The biting cold struck men and women dumb. 
 And all the restless town was peevish, cold, and 
 
 glum. 
 
 An aged woman, 'lighting from a car, 
 Was caught, unheeding, by a gust of wind 
 Which spun her round and round, so that afar 
 She seemed to grope about her as one blind, 
 And, reeling dizzily, she had no mind 
 For vehicles approaching in the street. 
 But, trying hard her energies to bind. 
 She fell, a helpless heap, amidst the sleet. 
 Where straightway she was crushed by heavy equine 
 feet. 
 
 A shout of horror rose from out the throng 
 Of busy humans hasting to their work; 
 The noise was taken up by street-car gong. 
 Which dinned appeallngly with frantic jerk. 
 The frightened driver, swearing like a Turk, 
 Sawed at the reins until he stopped his horse, 
 And leaping down Into the mire and murk, 
 
 38 
 
Snatched from a pool of blood, with desperate force, 
 The rigid corpse whose life, alas ! had run its course. 
 
 With nervous haste he cried aloud for aid; 
 From out the crowd which viewed the bitter scene 
 There stepped a surgeon, vigorous, unafraid. 
 Who knew right well what such a thing might 
 
 mean ; 
 With subtle movements, deft hands scarcely seen, 
 He felt the victim's pulse, laid ear to heart, 
 Then shook his head with sad, expressive mien ; 
 From out his wallet took a bulky chart. 
 Soon signalled two or three, and spoke to them 
 
 apart. 
 
 With careful hands these men the body raised. 
 And placed it in a street-car, near at hand ; 
 The unintentional homicide, half-crazed, 
 Was led to wait the justice of the land. 
 No longer curious, the little band 
 Of spectators dispersed, each on his way; 
 That night the evening papers, sleek and bland. 
 Retold, in brief, the tragedy of that day; 
 Thus Father Time, unmoved, doth wound and 
 maim and slay. 
 
 The earth had doffed its mantle, muddy-white, 
 The snow and sleet had vanished like a mist ; 
 The city changed appearance over night. 
 The dimpling lake was smiling now, sun-kissed ; 
 The street-cars rushed along the tracks, and hissed 
 With sheer delight, in busy, pulsing life; 
 The world was happy, not a person missed 
 The creature who had vanished from the strife; 
 The city, hating woes, returned to pleasures rife. 
 
 39 
 
TO A FklEND 
 
 When with worry's stern cares we are crushed and 
 
 o'erwhelmed, 
 When defeat makes us blanch and despair makes us 
 
 bend, 
 It is then that our souls are completely unhelmed, 
 It is then that we fly to the arms of a friend. 
 
 Happy the man who enjoys such a solace, 
 Bliss and delight are his share, without end ; 
 The farmer, the scholar, the king in his palace. 
 Prize nothing so dear as the love of a friend. 
 
 If ever you sink in the mire of black sorrow. 
 Of dark, brooding trouble (which Heaven forfend!) 
 Remember there's always another to-morrow. 
 Remember you've one faithful, trustworthy friend. 
 
 40 
 
THOUGHTS INSPIRED BY A RAINY DAY 
 
 A burning fever thrills my veins, 
 
 I choke with thirst, my throat is parched and dry ; 
 
 And yet I know not why ; 
 
 For heavily it rains, 
 
 Unhealthful mists conceal nigh things from sight, 
 
 And fill the earth with fright. 
 
 What is the cause of my discomfiture, 
 
 That, though 'tis cold and bleak, I feel unnatural 
 
 heat? 
 The answer is not far to seek. 
 Each word I speak. 
 Each sound I hear, is music sweet, 
 Proclaiming to my soul a truth of which I'm sure. 
 And yet sometimes grave doubts 
 Lay hold upon my soul ; 
 I ask myself: "What is this hole 
 Called world, and what its ins and outs ?" 
 But soon this vague oppression 
 Departs, and leaves me high and dry. 
 The world becomes a paradise. 
 Its creatures shine with light drawn from the sky. 
 My thoughts take on fresh wings, and rise 
 To meet their God, holding eternal session. 
 
 41 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT OVER SPACE 
 
 {A Duologue) 
 
 Male Voice. 
 
 At last ! My goal have I attained ! 
 The bliss of Heaven now Fve gained. 
 Thy lovely face before me hovers, 
 I am the happiest of lovers. 
 
 Female Echo 
 
 Patiently I wait, but ardor 
 Makes my task so much the harder; 
 Hasten thither, absent lover, 
 Cause my trial to be over. 
 
 Male Voice 
 
 In two short months, but ah! how long! 
 In two short months! this is my song; 
 Then in the refuge of thy arms, 
 I'll share with thee thy gracious charms. 
 
 Female Echo 
 
 Come, oh come I My heart beats madly ! 
 I would suffer torture gladly 
 If I could but bring you near me; 
 Distant lover, hear me! hear me! 
 
 42 
 
FOR HER GOD 
 
 A Spanish noble, centuries ago, 
 Possessed a storied castle on a hill 
 Which frowned upon a busy town below. 
 Where swarming mankind streets and shops did 
 
 fill; 
 Three races mingled there — and mingle still — 
 The Moslem and the Christian and the Jew, 
 The last ignobly marked by badge of blue. 
 
 Within the market-place of this old village 
 There moved a Jewish maiden, clad in rags; 
 Her home had just been given o'er to pillage, 
 And she become an outcast, sport for wags; 
 Her leaden feet with weary toil she drags; 
 Beneath the grime and blood which soiled her face 
 Could still be seen the fierce pride of her race. 
 
 Her bold black eyes flashed fearlessly around, 
 Her crow's-wing hair hung wantonly dishevelled; 
 Her beauty held the eyes of all spell-bound, 
 The multitude in gaping wonder revelled; 
 With proud disdain a passage-way she levelled; 
 And, bursting through the throng, she ran in haste 
 Through streets, where leering men spoke things 
 unchaste. 
 
 Arrived before the village synagogue. 
 She kneeled in fervent prayer at its portals; 
 The nobleman, a lewd, malicious dog, 
 Returning from the hunt with fellow-mortals, 
 Beholds her, wondering, then rudely startles 
 Her from her attitude of deep devotion, 
 And grinning basely, set his tongue in motion. 
 
 43 
 
Addressing her, he spoke: "What means this 
 
 prayer, 
 These rags, these wounds, these looks of injured 
 
 pride? 
 I like thee well, sweet wench, thou'rt soiled, but 
 
 fair, 
 I fain would have thee daily at my side. 
 Wilt thou with me in yon strong towers abide? 
 I'll give thee raiment fine and costly food. 
 And blot from thee thy cursed Jewish blood." 
 
 The Jewess, drawing up erect and proud, 
 Approached the foul-mouthed lord with deep-flushed 
 
 mien; 
 Snatching his riding-whip, she cried aloud: 
 ''O God of Israel, now on thee I lean, 
 Help me this day to keep thy people clean." 
 At this she struck the horse. The frightened beast 
 Trampled and crushed the girl. Her life soon 
 
 ceased. 
 
 44 
 
SNOW IN APRIL 
 
 I woke this morning filled with humors dark, 
 
 I shuddered as I thought of daily work 
 
 And soul-destroying cares that gnaw and cark, 
 
 I felt a cowardly desire to shirk. 
 
 In sheer disgust I rose, and frown and smirk 
 
 Revealed my thoughts and feelings but too clearly; 
 
 "Why must one rise," asked I, "so very early?" 
 
 With spirits low, I drew the window shades. 
 The earth with beaming face smiled up at me ; 
 A robe of snow had covered hills and glades, 
 I wondered how in April this could be ; 
 The landscape round me, far as eye could see, 
 Was glistening with the sheen of myriad pearls. 
 Such as bedeck the gowns of kings and earls. 
 
 My downcast mood departed like the mist 
 Which vanishes before the cold wind's blast; 
 Such smiling glories no one could resist, 
 I longed to feel the sting of snowflakes chaste. 
 To breathe the wintry wind careering past; 
 I reached my office tingling with delight. 
 And eagerly resumed the daily fight. 
 
 45 
 
A TALE 
 
 {From the Spanish) 
 
 The mother died. The child, with anxious eyes, 
 Gazed at the form stretched lengthwise on the bier. 
 And asked the father when from sleep she'd rise ; 
 The tearful answer came: "No more down here. 
 For she is now ascending to the skies. 
 And soon will be an angel-figure clear." 
 
 These words the child but vaguely understood, 
 
 He raised his bright blue eyes in search to Heaven ; 
 
 The father, noticing his son's sad mood. 
 
 Ordered that food and toys be to him given ; 
 
 A nurse then led him to a nearby wood. 
 
 Where autumn leaves by cooling winds were driven. 
 
 Attached to one small hand, a toy balloon 
 Waved to and fro with every puff of wind ; 
 The cotton string, but loosely fastened, soon 
 Broke from its moorings and left earth behind ; 
 The child, in glee, cried out, "Balloon, go find 
 My mother in her home beyond the moon." 
 
 46 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF SUMMER 
 
 Although 'tis only April, 
 The month of showers and rain ; 
 'Tis warm as any summer's day ; 
 Oh, that the heat would pass away. 
 And coolness come again! 
 
 The trees are smiling friendly, 
 Their coats of green are on; 
 But man is not in happy mood, 
 This sultry weather makes him brood 
 On winter evenings gone. 
 
 Mankind's a fickle wanton, 
 
 Ne'er satisfied nor pleased ; 
 
 He scolds and fumes at April showers. 
 
 Yet by her sun, which loves the flowers. 
 
 He cannot be appeased. 
 
 47 
 
RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Incessantly it rains, 
 
 The ashen sky seems sullen and morose. 
 
 Upon the window panes 
 
 The moisture forms huge drops that trickle down 
 
 In narrow, intersecting streams. 
 
 The air is damp and close, 
 
 While o'er the mountains, grayish-brown, 
 
 A misty vapor steams. 
 
 The earth imbibes its fill 
 
 Of strong, creative, cloud-born rain ; 
 
 The trees in wanton joy their branches toss, 
 
 The sap is singing in their veins again. 
 
 Besides the beat of rain on grass and moss. 
 
 The world is deathly still. 
 
 Though earth and trees rejoice, 
 
 The gloomy sky is mirrored in the soul 
 
 Of man. He has no choice, 
 
 But wanders Idly round, with longings vain 
 
 That soon the mists may roll 
 
 From ofE the distant hills. For he, 
 
 Selfish, does not desire the rain 
 
 That makes God's landscape what 'twill always be,- 
 
 Refinlng, soul-uplifting, giving food 
 
 To mind and body, cleansing out the crude 
 
 And raw in human nature. Thus all gifts 
 
 Are spurned and undervalued. But, see there! 
 
 The sun is peeping through the rifts 
 
 Of fog and cloud, the air 
 
 Is losing all its darkness, and my brain 
 
 Is waking from its lethargy. 
 
 What is the fog to me? 
 
 And what the rain? 
 
 48 
 
THE NEW MOON 
 
 O Moon, thou luminary wan and pale 
 
 That now art by the eye so clearly seen, 
 
 Once more we greet thee, thee with prayers we 
 
 hail. 
 Thou work of God that shin'st since earth hath 
 
 been ! 
 In thee our God we praise, 
 His majesty we raise 
 E'en to the heights that cause men's thoughts to 
 
 quail. 
 Thou heavenly queen! 
 
 Thy course a measure is for months and days, 
 Thy waxing and thy waning bring the years; 
 Thy light beholds the lonely wretch who prays, 
 Thy solemn gaze fills all with awe, and cheers. 
 May thou thy message bring 
 To every living thing. 
 Of steadfastness to do the Maker's will. 
 O'er dale and hill. 
 
 "Peace be to you," "To you be peace," we chant 
 
 To one another, fervently adoring; 
 
 Our gracious God, we pray to you to grant 
 
 Thy light divine to barb'rous nations warring! 
 
 Send down Thy peace to all. 
 
 Lead them within Thy thrall! 
 
 Let Thy law shine supreme, a beacon light, 
 
 O God of might! 
 
 49 
 
THE HEBREW LANGUAGE 
 
 Oh that I could speak thee, 
 Tongue our fathers spoke, 
 Tongue of priest and prophet, 
 Whose echoes Zion woke! 
 
 David's loftly paeans, 
 Moses' mighty word. 
 Are being resurrected, 
 From young and old are heard. 
 How sweet to hear our language 
 Once more proclaimed and sung, 
 The language of the Bible, 
 Most glorious, sacred tongue! 
 
 It fills me with ambition. 
 
 With hope and new-born zeal; 
 
 The Jewish nation cannot die. 
 
 Her gaping wounds must heal! 
 
 The Hebrew tongue, the Holy Land, 
 
 The Jew's religion pure, 
 
 The Jewish God, the Jewish home,- 
 
 Are these not safeguards sure? 
 
 50 
 
MODERN POETRY 
 
 I used to think, and most of us do think 
 
 That poetry is now an art forgotten ; 
 
 That, like the apple placed among spoiled fruit, 
 
 It, some time past, became entirely rotten. 
 
 But such is not the case. 
 
 Should we suppose, because we're on the brink 
 
 Of rank materialistic precepts base, 
 
 That these have silenced Pan's sweet-sounding flute? 
 
 Though man, to-day, is selfish, hard, 
 
 Yet there are noble hearts 
 
 That quiver 
 
 Forever 
 
 With love for one and all. Such is the bard, 
 
 Who sends broadcast his darts. 
 
 Which penetrate the souls of men. 
 
 Letting light in, now and then. 
 
 For each man is a poet at some time. 
 
 When love or hate his inmost self does shake, 
 
 If only he would break 
 
 The shell of selfishness in which he hides. 
 
 E'en though he knows not metre, verse, or rhyme, 
 
 The star that guides 
 
 His steps unerringly through life's dim mazes 
 
 Is poetry. For poetry 
 
 Is naught but pow'r to feel, with strong emotions, 
 
 To feel for self, for man, for earth. 
 
 To thrill with praises 
 
 Of God, the fount of death and birth, 
 
 To glory in the motions 
 
 Of muscle and of limb. 
 
 SI 
 
Who dares assert to me 
 
 That, 'spite the aspect grim 
 
 Of life, there are not, in abundance, such, 
 
 Who strive to tear the bonds of dull routine, 
 
 And, stretching eager hands, to touch 
 
 The realms ethereal, to learn what all things mean? 
 
 Such beings, though they never pen a verse. 
 
 Are poets, for they know the better from the worse. 
 
 53 
 
RETROSPECT 
 
 Some day, when I am old and worn, 
 Enfeebled, as a babe new born, 
 ril turn the pages of this book. 
 And softly glide on mem'ry's brook. 
 
 Vain hopes and dreams will I recall, 
 Desires and longings — treasures all ; 
 Fresh sparks of youth will thrill my soul. 
 The ash become a glowing coal. 
 
 And then, perhaps, a gentle smile 
 Will curl my lips; for, all the while, 
 I'll know that I had not achieved 
 One tenth of all that Fd believed 
 
 My duty to fulfill on earth—- 
 To teach men life's most precious worth ; 
 To show that love and life are one, 
 That man is God's beloved son. 
 
 ril feel that I had worked in vain 
 To prove that wealth is but the gain 
 Of moments; that lifers real gold 
 Cannot be bartered, bought, or sold. 
 
 Religion, messenger divine. 
 Thy gracious brow to man incline; 
 Raise him beyond his mortal spheres, 
 Show him a God who sees and hears. 
 
 53 
 
Poetry, descend once more 
 
 To hold the place thou hadst of yore; 
 Teach us, in burning words, the plan 
 By which and for which God made man.- 
 
 The book slips from my nerveless hands, 
 
 1 smile again, though life's few sands 
 Are falling in the glass; O youth. 
 Bring back thy love of faith and truth! 
 
 54