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BESIDE THE STILL WATERS. 
 LEGENDS, LYRICS, ELEGIES. 
 
 By GEORGE ALEXANDER KOHUT. 
 
 Privately Printed for the Author; 
 NEW YORK, 1912. 
 
Lovingly Inscribed 
 to 
 
 REBEKAH KOHUT. 
 
 Proverbs, XXXI, 10-31. 
 
 A 
 
 OCT ^'-'Igj^ 
 
Edition limited to two hundred copies. 
 
 This copy is number 
 
To My Mother 
 
 To My Mother 
 
 I fain would make this sonnet sing like song, 
 
 In accents tremulous of sweet accord, 
 
 The variations of a single word, 
 
 So musically quivering along 
 
 The magic keys of that diviner sense, 
 
 Which thrills with rapture at the touch of art 
 
 And ravishes the human soul and heart 
 
 When deep emotions are the most intense ; 
 
 In syllables of rhyme I fain would frame 
 
 One tender word, as holy as a shrine, 
 
 — ^The first we lisp, the last we e'er resign — 
 
 And fervently invoke in God's own name 
 
 A whisper'd benediction from above 
 
 To hallow and to sanctify her love. 
 
 January, 1901. 
 
A Fable 
 
 A Fable 
 
 A stately pine of boastful mien 
 Upon a rugged cliff did stand ; 
 
 The sun bathed both in golden sheen, 
 The selfsame sky above them spanned. 
 
 "Be not so proud," the ancient rock 
 Once gently chid the tap'ring pine; 
 
 " 'Tis not quite seemly that you mock 
 The ancient stone your roots entwine; 
 
 **I'm used to be esteemed, revered, 
 In every place, in every zone: 
 
 The Ten Great Words to men endeared 
 Were writ by God himself on stone!'' 
 
 *'Yet dare I glance into the sky,'' 
 Rejoined the graceful, vaunting pine; 
 
 "The Saviour on the cross did die; 
 I carried one who was divine!" 
 
 They quarreled, but they still abide. 
 The ancient rock, the boastful tree; 
 
 They dwell together, side by side — 
 And cannot part, by God's decree. 
 
 March. 1901, 
 
"What Doest Thou, Elijah ? 
 
 **WHAT DOEST THOU, ELIJAH?*' 
 
 (I Kings xix. 9 — 15) 
 
 I. 
 
 Elijah pined sore 'neath a juniper tree, 
 Whilst Jezebel fumed in her wrath; 
 
 He fled for his life, yet he feared to be free, 
 In dread of its aftermath; 
 
 Not daring to face the fierce queen in her mood, 
 
 He hied to the forest, to fret and to brood. 
 
 II. 
 
 For lo! he had slain all the prophets, forsooth! 
 
 And put the anointed to sword; 
 The servants of Baal that had swerved from the 
 
 truth, 
 
 Whom God the Eternal abhorred; 
 By the clear-flowing brook of Kishon they died, 
 Who heathen gods served and Adonai denied. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then Jezebel swore a most terrible oath, 
 
 — For Ahab, the ruler, was weak — 
 She'd malice and courage sufficient for both. 
 
 Her unhallowed vengeance to wreak ; 
 And vowed by her life the proud prophet to slay, 
 Ere dusk shall have kissed down the eyelids of 
 
 day. 
 IV. 
 
 AJone, near Beer Sheba, the forest he sought, 
 
 — ^His servant remaining behind; — 
 His nerves were atingle, his brain overwrought. 
 
'What Doest Thou, Elijah?" 
 
 He sat 'neath a shrub and repined; 
 Then lifting his world-weary eyes up on high, 
 He earnestly wished of the Lord but to die. 
 
 V. 
 
 ** 'Tis enough," wailed the prophet, "now take 
 
 my life! 
 Deliver me, hence. Lord, in peace; 
 My days are fulfilled and now reckoning is rife. 
 
 Give unto my sad soul release. 
 What profit doth man find in all that he gathers ? 
 He's worse, but no better, than have been his 
 
 fathers!'' 
 VI. 
 
 He lay himself down and soon sank into sleep, — 
 
 When wondrous it is to relate: 
 An angel of God, who is nigh when we weep, 
 
 Upon him his finger he laid ; 
 And roused him and bade him to get on his feet, 
 The Cxod of his fathers enjoined him to eat. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Elijah beheld, as he rose to obey, 
 
 A cake that was baken on coal; 
 A cruse full of water stood near where he lay. 
 
 To slake the parched thirst of his soul ; 
 He drank of the draught, and he ate of the food — 
 And relapsed in his solemn mood. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then once more the angel of God did appear, 
 And touching the prophet, he said : 
 
'*What Doest Thou, Elijah ? 
 
 *' Arise now and eat, for the journey, I fear, 
 
 Is far for thy sore feet to tread!" 
 And forty days more was his spent strength sus- 
 tained, 
 Till Horeb, the mountain of God, was attained. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And thither arriving, he lodged in a cave. 
 When lo! came the word of the Lord ; 
 
 — ''The voice of the daughter of God" sounded 
 
 grave; 
 It solemnly rang as it soared; — 
 
 He heard, all aquiver with awe and with fear: 
 
 *'My servant, Elijah, what doest thou here?" 
 
 X. 
 
 *'Hot zeal hath consumed me for Thee, Lord of 
 
 Hosts," 
 The pessimist prophet replied ; 
 ''Thine Israel, once faithful, of folly now boasts: 
 
 Thine altars the wanton defiled; 
 Thy highpriests they slew and I only am spared, 
 But I too, if not fled, their fate would have 
 
 shared." 
 XI. 
 
 *'Go forth!" was the mandate "and stand on the 
 
 hill. 
 Before the Eternal, thy God!" 
 The Call of the Spirit had vanquished his will, 
 . The soul of the seer was o' era wed ; 
 His heart was hushed still, and his pulse quivered 
 
 fast, 
 As God, in His Majesty, over him passed. . . 
 
10 **What Doest Thou, Elijah ? " 
 
 XII. 
 
 The breath of the Lord rent the mountains in 
 
 twain — 
 'Twas a strong and a terrible gale ; 
 It crumbled the rocks by the might of its main, 
 
 And the prophet did visibly pale ; 
 Yet, not in the wind and not in the thunder 
 Was the Lord who cleaved the mountains 
 
 asunder. 
 
 XIII. 
 In rumble of earthquake, or fire, or flame, 
 
 The Spirit of God does not dwell ; 
 — Our turbulent conscience and tumults of shame. 
 
 Some echo celestial may quell — 
 A Voice that is still and is small, when its rings, 
 Oft crashes the thunder of holier things. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Elijah then wrapped him his mantle around, 
 
 And covered his face in its fold ; 
 He entered the cave to escape from the sound, 
 
 That silently, solemnly, rolled; 
 
 When lo! chimed again the dread voice in his ear: 
 
 '*My servant, Elijah, what doest thou here?'* 
 * * * 
 
 XV. 
 
 O prophets and seers that still slay with the 
 
 sword, 
 
 The Lord, God of Hosts, to appease; 
 Who hurtle the lightning and thunder the word, 
 
 The idol of self-love to please: 
 Beseech not to die when all self-love is done. 
 The kingdom of heaven by conscience is won. 
 
"What Doest Thou, Elijah ? 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The world has no patience with sensitive souls, 
 
 Who bury their woes in a cave; 
 From torrids of wrath one may flee to the poles, 
 
 To pine and to brood and to rave; 
 The mission of God is but truly fulfilled 
 When hope rushes swift, and the spirit is stilled. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A Voice that is hushed of the silence within 
 
 Whispers of life and its beauty; 
 We hear it resounding far over the din, 
 
 Summons celestial to Duty; 
 To prince or to pauper, to savage or seer: 
 ''My servant, Elijah, what doest thou here?" 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
 NOTE to verse ix, line 3: Bath-Kol, "The voice of the daughter 
 of God," is a poetic fancy of the Rabbis to describe a heavenly 
 echo. See Whittier's reference to the Bath-Kol in his poem on the 
 Two Rabbins: "Pausing to hear that Daughter of a Voice.*' 
 Wordsworth makes use of the same metaphor in the opening line 
 of his Ode to Duty: "Stern daughter of the Voice of God." 
 
12 The Reward of Charity 
 
 THE REWARD OF CHARITY 
 A Talmudic Tradition. 
 
 In Baba Bathra, on the Talmud page, 
 
 The tale is told of Benjamin, the Sage, 
 
 The almoner, who kept the revenues, 
 
 Collected in the Temple for the use 
 
 Of those he loved far better than the priests. 
 
 Whose tithe-receipts were ample for their feasts. 
 
 And wisely, too, these poor-pence he bestowed, 
 
 Regardless of the reading of the code. 
 
 Which bade him scan with diligent concern 
 
 The status of each applicant, in turn. 
 
 E'er vigilant to succor deep distress. 
 
 The meagre funds now every day grew less. 
 
 Until he found, whene'er the week expired. 
 
 That he'd expended more than he'd acquired. 
 
 And oftener than not he borrowed more 
 
 From out his own resources for the poor. 
 
 It chanced, one day, when want and famine 
 
 spread 
 Throughout the land, — inspiring all with dread — 
 A woman came to Benjamin the Good, 
 Imploring him, in mercy's name, for food. 
 He lifted up a pale and anxious face 
 And said to her, with melancholy grace: 
 *'I swear, my daughter, by God's holy shrine. 
 Our funds are spent, or else they would be thine!" 
 **0, Rabbi," came the quavering reply, 
 *'Then with my seven children I must die!" 
 The Rabbi felt no human need was worse 
 And gave her all he carried in his purse. 
 
The Reward of Charity 13 
 
 In course of time he sickened and he knew 
 His days on earth remaining were but few; — 
 For Death was there, impatient by his side, 
 The one great pow'r no human yet defied. 
 But lo! the Hosts and Archangels began 
 To intercede for this God-fearing man: 
 '^Thou'st said, O Lord," in chorus they appealed, 
 ''That he, who but one single soul did shield 
 Is counted as though he had saved the world. 
 Shall Benjamin the Righteous now be hurled, 
 So early to his doom? Who freely gave 
 His meagre hoard to rescue from the grave, 
 Eight human souls?" — Thus spake the angels, 
 
 and 
 Their shimm'ring wings the Council- Chamber 
 
 spanned ; 
 They waited breathless for the mandate -Word 
 Of Him Who rules the earth. At last they heard 
 The high behest reverberate and soar: 
 "That man shall live yet twenty- two years 
 
 more!" 
 
 * * s{: 
 
 And hence the name of Benjamin is wrote 
 With that of other righteous men of note, 
 Eternally in old Rabbinic Script, 
 As though he were some great Apocalypt. 
 
 January, 1903. 
 
14 The Rabbi and the Angel. 
 
 THE RABBI AND THE ANGEL 
 
 Rabbi Ben Saphra, as the twilight spread 
 Its purple shadows o'er the Book he read, 
 Serenely stood, while closing it, and prayed: 
 *'May lurking dangers find me unafraid!" 
 And, gathering up within his wrinkled palm 
 The Sacred Tome which wardeth off all harm, 
 He bent his steps with tremulous desire 
 Toward that still place where angel-hosts inspire 
 The human soul to ecstasies of prayer. 
 And garner all the garlands woven there 
 Of pious men's resolves, and place them prone 
 Upon God's shining, everlasting Throne. 
 He saw no light save one which flickered low 
 Before the shrine, since days of long ago. 
 Yet was he dauntless, as he neared the ark, 
 His heart glowed brightly in the semi-dark. 
 And all within his placid spirit felt 
 That Presence nigh which true devotion spelt. 
 With eager fingers he undid the lock, 
 The while his pulse was ticking like a clock. 
 The bolt flew back; the sacred scrolls in white 
 Looked just like children, in the sombre light. 
 And, as he raised his feeble eyes aloft. 
 He heard the sound of whisp 'rings low and soft. 
 And then the brush of angel-wings thrilled 
 
 through 
 His inmost parts; and there, before he knew, 
 Betwixt two scrolls, with outstretched pinions, 
 
 stood 
 The Seraph Sandalphon. And, ere he could 
 Recover from this wonderful surprise, 
 
The Rabbi and the Angel 15 
 
 The Vision vanished straight before his eyes. 
 Then, prostrate, in the shadow of the shrine, 
 Ben Saphra heard the echo, the divine — 
 The Daughter of God's own celestial Voice — 
 Which caused his hallowed spirit to rejoice. 
 So low it smote and yet so clarion clear 
 Upon his listening, well-instructed ear: 
 **Draw nigh the Ark of Covenant, and see 
 What Sandalphon, my Seraph, left for thee!*' 
 The Rabbi swayed and wrapped the sacred shawl 
 Around his head, in answer to the call; 
 Approaching, then, the casket, and impelled 
 By other Pow'r than his, lo! he beheld. 
 Betwixt the scrolls of God's eternal Law, 
 Where angel's wings his spirit-fancy saw 
 A wreath of flowers the Shining One and Fair 
 Did weave of his sincerely uttered prayer. 
 For Sandalphon is charged with this sweet task 
 And brings from God the garlands that we ask. 
 
 October, 1903. 
 
 NOTE: Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer, the subject of one of 
 Longfellow's poems, is mentioned by the Rabbis as the tallest angel 
 in heaven. He stands behind the divine throne and places crowns 
 and floral wreaths upon the head of the Creator. These wreaths 
 he weaves from the prayers of the sons of men. This quaint 
 tradition is mentioned in the special prayers offered in the 
 synagogue on Succoth. 
 
i(i Why the Face of Moses Shone. 
 
 WHY THE FACE OF MOSES SHONE. 
 
 (Exodus xxxiv., 29-35.) 
 
 A Jewish Tradition. 
 
 For forty days and forty nights 
 The prophet fasted on the heights, 
 On Sinai's peaks he spake with God, 
 His being strangely overawed. 
 
 ''Write down these words ; 'tis My command 
 That they be written by thy hand; 
 Fore'er a witness they shall be 
 Of Israel's gift of Prophecy!" 
 
 And Moses wrote the Ten Words down; 
 O'er every one he placed a crown, 
 An olden legend tells us why : 
 "They were to rule the world for aye." 
 
 He dipped his pen in starry light — 
 His sight grew dim, it shone so bright — 
 The Letters were of golden hue. 
 They shimmer still for me and you. 
 
 On tablets twain the Prophet wrote 
 This Testament of wondrous note, 
 This heritage of ages past, 
 Bequeathed to all the world, to last. 
 
 The task was done, and Moses seemed 
 To wonder why the light yet beamed; 
 He wished to write one other word, 
 But, murm'ring ''Nay", looked heavenward. 
 
Why the Face of Moses Shone. 1 7 
 
 *' 'Tis not for man to know Thy ways; 
 To probe the stars ; to pluck the rays 
 From planets high, his spirit dares — 
 For man, O Lord, Thy Image bears; 
 
 '*He soars upon the wings of thought 
 To find how all things Thou hast wrought; 
 He sets no bounds to his keen quest; 
 Not knowing all, he doubts the rest. 
 
 ** Shall 1 reveal to human mind 
 What it, unaided, ne'er can find? 
 Shall I command the heart to hope. 
 And lead them who in darkness grope? 
 
 ** Shall I unveil to mortal man 
 The mysteries which make Thy plan 
 A blessing for the universe — 
 And change the boon into a curse? 
 
 '*Nay, Lord of Hosts, he shall not see 
 With mortal eyes Eternity; 
 But every heart shall feel its glow — 
 The wistful stream of Hfe must flow; 
 
 ''And every eye shall steadfast gaze, 
 Above the mist, o'er all the maze 
 Of many doubts and many ills. 
 Beyond the Everlasting Hills. 
 
 '* 'Tis better far the human soul 
 Should strive and struggle toward the goal, 
 Lest, learning all, man cease to care 
 How Spirit, freed from flesh, may fare," 
 
18 Why the Face of Moses Shone. 
 
 And, saying this, with solemn mien, 
 
 His face was wreathed in starry sheen: 
 
 He wiped his pen upon his brow, 
 
 And Light streamed forth, he knew not how. 
 
 The Mountain flamed, as in a cloud, 
 Th' Eternal passed — and Moses bowed; 
 Then, holding high the Tablets twain. 
 Transfigured, he came down again. 
 
 He wist not that his face did shine 
 By grace of God in every line ; 
 The people saw, and, moved to fear, 
 Not even Aaron ventured near. 
 
 Then Moses knew that Hand Divine 
 Had traced o'er him that lustrous Sign; 
 He called to them and veiled the light 
 Which dazzled on their sense and sight. 
 
 They all came nigh, while Moses spake 
 
 The Ten Commands, which made them quake, 
 
 The Law of Right the world obeys, 
 
 When men behold its blinding rays. 
 
 And lo! unwritten glory glows 
 From each pure heart that heaven knows ; 
 From every pen that's dipped in light 
 Effulgence gleams to cheer the night. 
 
 And every man who mounts the hill. 
 
 Where God reveals to all His Will, 
 
 Shall wear upon his forehead clear 
 
 The wondrous Sign which blessed the Seer. 
 
Why the Face of Moses Shone. 19 
 
 The light of Hope which glistened then, 
 Unwritten on the Prophet's pen, 
 And shone o'er him, he knew not how, 
 Streams out from every God-kissed brow. 
 
 May, 1904, 
 
20 The Rabbi and the Cripple. 
 
 THE RABBI AND THE CRIPPLE 
 
 (A Tale From the Talmud.) 
 
 Reb Simeon, the novice, just ordained. 
 
 And conscious of the knowledge he had gained, 
 
 Was journeying, well mounted on a mule. 
 
 From Migdal Ezer, center of a School 
 
 Of sage Tannaim, at whose feet he'd heard 
 
 The Torah's subtle, soul-impelling word, — 
 
 When lo! the beast which bore him, reared, and 
 
 stood 
 Quite sudden still, and roused him from his mood. 
 He raised the lash, impatient of delay. 
 But then perceived, directly in his way, 
 A little man, mis-shapen and ill-starred, 
 Whose puny weight all further progress barred. 
 Now, drawing rein, he frowned upon the sight, 
 And uttered loud what every Israelite 
 Is bound to whisper very soft and low. 
 On seeing things uncommon in their woe : 
 **Be thou exalted, King of all the Earth, 
 Who fashionest all beings from their birth 
 According to Thy high omniscient will!" — 
 The blessing done, his voice rang out quite shrill, 
 (Unmindful of the greeting he received. 
 Nor caring if his banter pleased or grieved :) 
 '^Whence hailest thou, ill-favored, ugly shape, 
 So strangely like the elemental ape; 
 Are sons of men, where thou abidest, thus 
 Unhandsome — and hast come to mock at us? 
 Begone! let no unseemly thing intrude 
 Upon my sight, in this uplifted mood." 
 The cripple blanched, and faltered for a space — 
 
The Rabbi and the Cripple. 21 
 
 Half scorn half sorrow warring on his face. 
 He strove to speak, but found no voice to say 
 A word of bane to blight him on his way. 
 Nor would he have invoked it to his ill, 
 For soon serene, and master of his will. 
 He flashed his eye full on the Rabbi's own, 
 And slowly said, a tremor in his tone : 
 *'Go, Rabbi, go, seek out the Master! He 
 Alone must bear the blame, who fashioned me 
 Thus feeble and ignoble, that you may 
 Insult His Image in my shapeless clay. 
 Reprove Him then ; pray fail not to upbraid 
 The Potter for the shattered wheel he made!'' 
 Reb Simeon quailed, and, pallid to the lips, 
 A death-chill in his very finger tips. 
 Could offer no reply. His buoyant mood 
 No longer served his purpose to be rude. 
 The light had fled from out his fervent eye, 
 And in his strait, he prayed that he might die. 
 A thousand visions flitted o'er his" brain 
 Within one second's overwhelming pain: 
 He saw himself in Migdal, where he'd spent 
 The teeming years in study reverent. 
 Once more he heard the drone of voices near 
 In sing-song zeal, responding to the seer. 
 Who, robed in white, with flowing beard of gray, 
 Rocked to and fro, in learned quandary; 
 He visioned next the Master, who engrossed 
 In colloquy with some ancestral ghost. 
 Glanced up at him, one day (as he, obscure, 
 And all alone, felt sure to be secure) 
 And, startled, called: "O Simeon, my son! 
 Dost tarry yet? The day well nigh is done! 
 
22 The Rabbi and the Cripple. 
 
 Thou seemest pale and overstrained and frail; 
 
 Soul without flesh is never of avail! 
 
 I bid thee, lad, depart, and take some ease 
 
 Thou art too spent for midnight reveries!'* 
 
 He then recalled, with pulsating remorse, 
 
 Each precious hour of spirit-intercourse. 
 
 In those rare days, when God abode in prayer, 
 
 And Mercy claimed what time he had to spare. 
 
 And, O, the look of lingering caress, 
 
 The falt'ring tone (too tear-laden to bless) 
 
 At parting, when the patriarch of lore 
 
 Stood wistfully beside the open door. 
 
 And, finding voice, this last injunction gave — 
 
 To serve him on his errand to the grave : 
 
 **Be flexible, as is the tender reed. 
 
 And not unbending as the cedar! Heed 
 
 God's high commands; they point the road to 
 
 bliss!" 
 (Which gentle speech he hallowed with a kiss.) 
 Thus conjured forth, his fancy spared him 
 
 naught, 
 As Conscience woke each tantalizing thought. 
 *'Alas!" rued he, and felt it as a pang, 
 * 'Before my mule had gone a parasang, 
 I've sheer forgot the precepts of the Sage, 
 Who taught me every grief to assuage. 
 And never, with a conscious wrong intent, 
 To violate the Law's high sacrament. 
 O woe is me, I, self-condemned, must bear 
 The throe of guilt, henceforward, everywhere!" 
 Thus mournfully the Rabbi pondered, and 
 Flushed scarlet with his own self -reprimand, 
 Dismounted slowly, and with humble mien 
 
The Rabbi and the Cripple. 23 
 
 Knelt in the dust to make his sorrow keen: 
 * 'Forgive me, brother!" ran his plea; "Behold 
 Him humble, who once essayed to be bold. 
 Contritely I beseech thee to be kind ; 
 My heart spake not ; it was my wayward mind 
 That shaped the words which hurt thee to the 
 
 quick!" 
 The cripple, deaf to plaintive rhetoric, 
 And nursing still his grievance, said with scorn: 
 * 'Better far that thou hadst not been born 
 Than thus to mock a creature, maimed and ill, 
 To merely vent thy sacrilegious will! 
 And thou'rt ordained a Rabbi? Would there 
 
 were, 
 In Israel's ranks, none like unto thee. Sir!" 
 Crestfallen now, the culprit scholar strode. 
 Beside his mule, the weary homeward road. 
 No further word was said betwixt the twain. 
 Each felt the other's palpitating pain; 
 Each knew the other's secret thought, and 
 
 weighed 
 The consequence of this grim escapade. 
 
 The village reached, they wondered both to see 
 
 Approaching them a goodly company. 
 
 Young men and old, fair maidens, clad in white, 
 
 Turned out to meet the laureled Israelite, 
 
 Who, full of honors in his tender years. 
 
 Was held to be the favored of the seers 
 
 Of Talmud lore. The hamlet was agleam 
 
 With color and device, as did beseem 
 
 The welcome of a venerated guest. 
 
 And lo! an old man headed all the rest, 
 
24 The Rabbi and the Cripple. 
 
 Who, clasping in his tremulous embrace, 
 
 The shamefaced youth before the populace, 
 
 Intoned the hallowed formula of prayer. 
 
 The peace- salaam yet lingered in the air 
 
 When he, whose soul was bitter with its pain 
 
 Broke out, his features quivering again : 
 
 "Ye call him Rabbi, who disdains to greet 
 
 A fellow- creature walking in the street; 
 
 Who taunts me with the blemish of my frame 
 
 In language far too frivolous to name? 
 
 Alas for Israel, if her leaders may 
 
 Insult the Lord's own handiwork of clay!" 
 
 Thus spake the cripple, and then turned to go 
 
 — His stature waxing greater in the glow. — 
 
 Reb Simeon, to those assembled there 
 
 Had seemed, till then, an angel of despair 
 
 — So grief- stricken and motionless he stood. 
 
 As though his limbs were petrified to wood! — 
 
 But now he m^oves and every nerve is tense 
 
 To hear the Rabbi's piteous defence: 
 
 "Alas, dear friends, I stand condemned of sin 
 
 Before my nearest hoary-headed kin ; 
 
 But yet I fain would have you intercede 
 
 With him who spake so harshly of my deed. 
 
 My soul is draped in cerements of woe ; 
 
 I've plead with him to pardon me, but no, 
 
 (Resentment drives forgiveness from the breast!) 
 
 His heart remains relentless to my quest. 
 
 O bid him stay and mercifully show 
 
 The kindness I neglected to bestow!" 
 
 The Rabbi paused, and every eye now sought 
 
 The cripple, who seemed riveted in thought. 
 
 A murmur thrilled his being like a prayer, 
 
The Rabbi and the Cripple. 25 
 
 As earnest faces met him everywhere — 
 
 One mute appeal looked out at him from all. 
 
 At last, he whispered, answering the call, 
 
 (His face aglow with yielding, till it shone:) 
 
 *'0 Rabbi, thou hast taught me to condone! 
 
 Forget the grudge I've harbored; let us be 
 
 Good comrades, allied through this misery!" 
 
 The Rabbi kissed the proferred hand, and stood 
 
 Transfigured into sweeter brotherhood. 
 
 Then, lifting up his voice, in accents low, 
 
 But tender as a comforting in woe, 
 
 And waxing stronger, as he gathered force 
 
 From out the Torah's ever-limpid source, 
 
 He preached a sermon resonant of what 
 
 His wayward mood had venerated not: 
 
 Of courtesy and kindness, its half-kin, 
 
 And how atonement expiateth sin. 
 
 And all that newly- consecrated throng 
 
 In wonderment forgot the Rabbi's wrong, 
 
 As he invoked the lullaby-refrain 
 
 The Master taught in Migdal, when the pain 
 
 Of parting brought such exquisite caress 
 
 As caused his very soul to effervesce ; 
 
 And, ever after, through the teeming years, 
 
 That message was like music to their ears. 
 
 February, 1905, 
 
26 Abraham and the Idolater. 
 
 ABRAHAM AND THE IDOLATER 
 (Retold from the Persian of Sa'adi) 
 
 As Abraham, the Friend of God, once stood 
 
 Before his tent, in meditative mood. 
 
 Engrossed in deep communion with the Lord 
 
 The Only One his fervent soul adored, — 
 
 He Hfted up his eyes, and from afar 
 
 A ''stranger" loomed, appearing like a star, 
 
 To cheer the dark, which came on unawares, 
 
 The while he swayed, enraptured, in his prayers. 
 
 With kindling eye and animated face 
 
 He beckoned him a welcome to his place, 
 
 And forward sped, so keen was his desire 
 
 To pay him homage, ere he drew much nigher. 
 
 The man was old and gray, and trembled half, 
 
 And tottered on by leaning on his staff. 
 
 So feeble was his frame, that now and then 
 
 He paused to rest — and plodded on again: 
 
 "I give thee peace!" said Abram, bending low, 
 
 His countenance with welcome all aglow ; 
 
 ''Suffer me, I pray thee, to restore 
 
 Thy feeble frame, and lead thee to my door; 
 
 Break bread with me; my humble home awaits 
 
 A guest or two at each one of its gates ; 
 
 For, lo! my tent is built, by Heaven's leave. 
 
 On every side a stranger to receive ; 
 
 It gives me joy to greet him and to lave 
 
 His tired feet — since this is all I crave : 
 
 To satisfy and shelter all who need 
 
 Of my abundance but a scanty meed ; 
 
 And all I ask of him who slakes his thirst 
 
Abraham and the Idolater. 27 
 
 And stills his hunger, is to thank Him first 
 
 Who guides the wand'rer safely on his way 
 
 And sends sweet slumber at the end of day." 
 
 Then Abram fetched the whitest bread and wine, 
 
 And o'er his head a halo seemed to shine. 
 
 As he besought his guest to praise the Lord, 
 
 Whom he and all his tribe alone adored. 
 
 The stranger bowed, and eager to partake, 
 
 Without a word the dainty bread he brake. 
 
 And made to eat, when Abram once again 
 
 (Upon his face a look of sudden pain) 
 
 In louder tone enjoined the hoary-head 
 
 To bless the Unseen Hand that sent him bread. 
 
 "Dear friend," began the wayfarer; ''Not so 
 
 Am I accustomed gratitude to show 
 
 For benefits received ; I cannot boast 
 
 Of faith in things unknown ; my worshipped God 
 
 Is one who leaves my senses overawed: 
 
 And lurid flame and vivid flash of fire 
 
 Are sign and symbol of his fearful ire. 
 
 O noble host, my thanks are thine alone 
 
 For loving kindness to a stranger shown; 
 
 May Ormuzd and Ahriman vouchsafe grace 
 
 Unto thy household. Favored be thy race 
 
 That rears up sons as reverent as thou!" — 
 
 The light died out of Abram's eyes. ''What now?" 
 
 Demanded he indignantly of him 
 
 Who would not do his zeal-inspired whim ; 
 
 "Thou wilt not make obeisance? Dost deny 
 
 The power of the Holy One on High? 
 
 Away with thee; thou canst not tarry here!" 
 
 And forthwith out into the starless night 
 
 He drove the haggard pilgrim with a blight; 
 
28 Abraham and the Idolater. 
 
 Nor paused he e'en to light him on his way 
 (As was his wont, with those that every day 
 Sought shelter 'neath his roof) ; then facing East, 
 Forgetting both his hunger and the feast, 
 He now began to chant the evening prayer. 
 The Echo of a Still voice in the air — 
 A whisper waxing mighty, as he stood 
 Now stole upon his spirit's solitude. 
 Then he discerned the rustle of a wing 
 And knew the Lord despised his offering. 
 Wrath melted into Mercy, as he heard 
 The Holy Ones most awe-inspiring Word: 
 *'Have I not borne a hundred years with thee, 
 In patience, Abram, ere thou soughtest me? 
 Why shouldst thou not, one single hour, for- 
 bear?"— 
 The Still Small Voice yet lingered in the air 
 When Abram rose, and taking wine and bread, 
 (His tender heart oppressed by growing dread) 
 Strode swiftly out into the cheerless night, 
 To seek the stranger, banished with a blight, — 
 When, in his path, irradiate and serene, 
 An angel stood, sweet Pity in his eyes — 
 The God-sent guest, transfigured in disguise. 
 
 February, 1909. 
 
Queen Esther 29 
 
 QUEEN ESTHER 
 (Purim 5663.) 
 
 I. 
 
 On his throne, so rich and splendid, 
 By his courtiers well attended, 
 Sat the monarch, great and mighty, 
 None in all of Susa like he ; 
 Lords and nobles bent before him. 
 Ever eager to adore him. 
 And he looked right proud and regal. 
 As outspread o'er him an eagle. 
 Richly carved in alabaster, 
 Made him loom out all the vaster. 
 
 n. 
 
 In the throne-room there reigned silence, 
 None dared speak — all feared his violence; 
 And 'twas death to him, who entered 
 Unannounced to where was centered 
 All of Persia's peerless glory. 
 You may read the ancient story 
 In the Record of the Ages, 
 Writ by Israel's seers and sages. 
 In the ancient Book of Esther, 
 Whose heroic deeds have blest her. 
 
 III. 
 
 There the king sat, robed in ermine. 
 
 Melancholy as a sermon. 
 
 And he almost wished the boys 
 
 Of the court would make some noise — 
 
30 Queen Esther. 
 
 No one ventured there to cheer him, 
 For they knew they had to fear him — 
 And he was about to thunder 
 That his throne be torn asunder 
 In his wrath so great and mighty, 
 When his Queen, advancing, spied he. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All were now in consternation — 
 For one even in her station. 
 Unless she were so requested, 
 Could not enter unmolested — 
 Yet, behold, she was not frightened, 
 And the gloomy monarch brightened. 
 And stretched out his jewelled sceptre. 
 Not to stay or intercept her. 
 But to bid her come yet nigher 
 To her lordly liege and sire. 
 
 V. 
 
 And Queen Esther, still advancing. 
 Blushed — it made her more entrancing — 
 Faltered, paused and murmured slowly: 
 She was of the '* lowly, lowly! — 
 And had come but to invite him, 
 For his kindness to requite him, 
 To a banquet, where with Haman 
 (But no other common layman) 
 He might feast upon her bounty, — 
 He will come to her, O won't he?" 
 
 VI. 
 
 And the king made haste to answer, 
 
 Ere she framed the words, "You can, sir?' 
 
Queen Esther. 31 
 
 And with Haman he attended — 
 You know full well how it ended; 
 How he built the stately gallows, 
 For her uncle and his fellows ; 
 How, in turn, he came to dangle. 
 Having got things in a tangle, 
 When he dined with sweet Queen Esther, 
 Never thinking to molest her. 
 
 March, 1903, 
 
32 How Esther Saved Her People. 
 
 HOW ESTHER SAVED HER PEOPLE 
 (Purim, 5664) 
 
 I. 
 
 The palace is in tumult and in tears, 
 For Persia's King, in anger, had dismissed 
 The noble Queen, his royal lips had kissed — 
 
 It is the sound of wailing that one hears! 
 
 Now Susa's prince is desolate and lone; 
 He grieves and frets, and scorns to be consoled. 
 The courtiers stand aghast, and e'en the bold 
 
 Dare not approach the monarch on his throne. 
 
 II. 
 
 His sov'reign wrath is o'er, but keen regret 
 Yet fills the heart of Ahasueros since 
 He did a thing unseemly in a prince, — 
 
 To put away his life-mate, in a pet. 
 
 But soon the six score provinces he rules 
 Are made to know his high imperious will, 
 To gainsay which would be to merit ill. 
 
 And reap all Persia's endless ridicules. 
 
 He means to wed, and every maiden fair 
 Is bid to come, arrayed in splendor, and 
 Fulfil the monarch's absolute command. 
 
 The beauty of his empire is all there, 
 
 But he perceives, amid that shining throng, 
 Of fine-clad dames, one simple maid alone; 
 He covets her, and claims her for his own, 
 
 A thousand winsome women from among : 
 
 Hadassah, kin of Mordecai, the Jew, 
 
How Esther Saved Her People. 33 
 
 An orphan child, his love had reared to be 
 — ^Adorned with but her sweet simplicity — 
 A favored Queen, renowned the whole world 
 
 through. 
 
 III. 
 
 And he abode, to be near her, within 
 The courtyard of the palace to observe 
 How best he might his cherished people serve, — 
 
 The brethren whom he honored as his kin. 
 
 There, every day, proud Haman passed him 
 
 by, 
 The vizier chief, to whom all bent the knee. 
 And kissed the dust, excepting only he. 
 
 Who worshipped God that dwelleth up on high. 
 
 To Him alone would he obeisance make; 
 His creed forbade that prostrate he should fall 
 Before the man, who towered over all. 
 
 And made the hearts of all his subjects quake. 
 
 And Haman saw how Mordecai withheld 
 The homage due to his exalted rank, 
 He looked his wrath, and Mordecai's heart sank, 
 
 Though from his lips a fervent pray'r up- 
 welled. 
 
 He knew too well that vengeance soon would 
 
 smite 
 Both him and his, and all the Hebrews, who 
 Abode in peace, and ever greater grew — 
 
 But, nonetheless, he gloried in the right. 
 
 That day he heard, as thoughtfully he stood 
 Within the gate, how treason had resolved 
 To slay the King, and how, it had involved 
 ■j The Queen he loved, his Hadassah the good. -' 
 
34 How Esther Saved Her People. 
 
 Forthwith he made the foul plot known to her, 
 And thus restrained the murder of his sire. 
 The deed then done, he humbly did retire, 
 
 Content to know the crime did not occur. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But Haman, bent on punishing him, swore 
 That Jew and all his brother Jews should die ; 
 He fixed the day, and wished that it were nigh, 
 
 So that the race might trouble him no more. 
 
 Then, straightway, to the presence of the King 
 The vizier went for sanction to destroy 
 The hated tribe that clouded all his joy. 
 
 The monarch heard, and granted everything. 
 
 Thus, surely armed with royal pow'r, he wrote 
 The fell decree which spread the King's com- 
 mands 
 With swiftness through his provinces and lands. 
 
 And Persia read, and eagerly took note. 
 
 Not yet content, high gallows he had built 
 Whereon to hang the obst'nate Mordecai, 
 Who frankly dared his wishes to defy, 
 
 That he might pay for his most flagrant guilt. 
 
 It chanced, one night, that Ahasueros woke, 
 And restless grew, and could not sleep again. 
 He called aloud for his high chamberlain, 
 
 To read to him from out the Record Book. 
 
 He bade him say what first his random glance 
 Beheld upon the open page. The man. 
 With measured voice, then solemnly began: 
 
 "It happened, in the course of time, by chance, 
 
 That Mordecai, the Jew, did overhear 
 The King's own servants, plotting him to slay; 
 
How Esther Saved Her People. 35 
 
 He brought the tidings here without delay, 
 His loyal heart quite overwrought with fear." 
 The Scribe here stopped. ''Go on!" the King 
 
 cried out, 
 
 **And what, I pray, was the reward he reaped?'* 
 
 ''There's none wrote down!" Then up the 
 
 proud prince leaped, 
 And thundered : "What! is any one without?" 
 The door just then, quite sudden thrown ajar, 
 
 Revealed the form of Haman, robed in state ; 
 
 ''Well -met, my lord!" exclaimed the King, irate, 
 Detaching from his royal breast a star, 
 "Thou art, in sooth, the very man I crave! 
 
 Pray tell me how a monarch should exalt 
 
 A fav'rite subject, who hath not a fault?" 
 On hearing this, the vizier grew quite grave, 
 Though fierce delight tugged at his vain, old 
 
 heart, 
 
 "The man in whom the King doth find delight 
 
 Shall on his royal steed be led, in sight 
 
 Of gaping thousands, through the public mart. 
 The King's own crown shall deck his honored 
 
 head, 
 
 His ermine cloak shall cover him, and one. 
 
 Who is the city's very noblest son. 
 
 Shall walk before him, with becoming tread. 
 Let him cry out: 'Thus doth our sov' reign 
 
 show 
 
 The man, whom he doth truly well esteem, 
 
 Such honor as appropriate may seem 
 To his high merit! ' " — ^Haman all aglow, 
 Awaited then the order of the King. — 
 
 The monarch smiled, then looking quickly stern, 
 
36 How Esther Saved Her People. 
 
 Said: "Mordecai, the Jew, did nobly earn 
 The glory thou describest. Go, then, bring 
 That worthy man, who dwells within the gate; 
 Put him in purple, and upon my steed. 
 Announce to all his unrewarded deed 
 Which saved thy sov'reign from the hand of 
 
 fate!— 
 Crestfallen, Haman carried out the will 
 Of his imperious King. That done, he rushed 
 To tell his wife how had his pride been crushed^ 
 And plot anew to do the Jews some ill. 
 
 V. 
 
 But lo! the royal courier comes to say 
 His gracious Queen awaits him at the feast 
 She has prepared. He goes, though not the 
 
 least 
 
 In mood to taste a morsel e'en that day. 
 
 Queen Esther knew he was her kinsman's foe, 
 And that he strove to wipe out all her race. 
 She bade the Jews to intercede for grace 
 
 To stay the hand that meditated woe. 
 
 In sackcloth and in ashes they bewailed 
 The threat'ning fate which hung o'er Israel, and 
 Proclaimed a Fast, by Mordecai's command. 
 
 Whose trust in God ne'er faltered and ne'er 
 
 failed. 
 
 Thus, anxiously awaiting the dread day, 
 When young and old should ruthlessly be slain^. 
 They looked to her, who never did disdain 
 
 To solace them, and be their prop and stay. 
 
 The noble Queen, determined to frustrate. 
 The fiendish plot of Haman, then appealed 
 
How Esther Saved Her People. 37 
 
 To her liege lord, though deftly she concealed 
 At first, that he was master of her fate. 
 Three banquets she had caused to be prepared, 
 Inviting him and Haman to partake 
 Of costly wines, their ready thirst to slake, 
 And still she left her purpose undeclared. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But now, when drink suffused his cheeks, and 
 
 caused 
 His royal heart to swell and overflow. 
 Queen Esther said in gentle tones and low. 
 
 The while the King looked eager, as she paused : 
 
 "Whatever thou askest, dear beloved queen, 
 Is thine before the wish be sheer expressed!" 
 "O, sire,'' she plead, '*my soul is much distressed; 
 
 Deliver me from peril, which, unseen. 
 
 Doth threaten me and all my race with death!'' 
 "With death?" all flushed, the monarch cried, 
 
 and rose, 
 "O, name the wretches daring to be foes 
 
 Of thy sweet peace!" Then, scarcely taking 
 
 breath. 
 
 He cried: *'Speak out, o Queen!" She raised 
 
 her beauteous head, 
 And, pointing out the wicked Haman, spake: 
 **He it is who's caused my heart to quake. 
 
 And fills my soul with foreboding and dread ; 
 
 For, know, o sire, this man has vowed to slay 
 Both me and mine, my people and my kin. 
 Whose loyalty is their one only sin. — 
 
 O bid him now the cruel decree to stay!" 
 
38 How Esther Saved Her People. 
 
 "And has he dared?" the monarch fiercely 
 
 hissed ; 
 
 **This is too much! I must go out to ease 
 
 My overwrought head; I tremble at the knees!" 
 
 And out he rushed, with firmly clenched fist. 
 
 Then Haman, pale and haggard, sought to 
 
 turn 
 Queen Esther's heart, and, prostrate, prayed 
 
 that she 
 Should save him in his dire extremity. 
 
 The King returned (his anger fierce did burn) 
 *'What now! Presumes this wretch to sue for 
 
 grace? 
 
 Away with him!" Just then a slave appeared. 
 
 And bowing low, at cow'ring Haman leered. 
 
 Then said:''My lord, the gallows are in place!" 
 
 **The gallows?" roared the irate King; *'what 
 
 for?" 
 **He had them built for Mordecai, o sire!" 
 At this the King could not restrain his ire. 
 And off the knave's gold epaulets he tore. 
 *'Then make ye haste, and hang him up, in- 
 stead, 
 Together with his hopeful sons, that none 
 May ever dare to do as he has done!" 
 
 VII. 
 
 And thus was foiled the wicked Haman' s plot 
 Against the Jews in Shushan, long ago, 
 When Israel's God great wonders wrought to 
 
 show 
 
 That He, our Keeper, sleeps and slumbers not; 
 
 That ever, when disaster threatens. He 
 
How Esther Saved Her People. 39 
 
 Redeems them all who trust in Him, and say: 
 *'The Lord of Hosts, our Refuge and our stay, 
 Shall be our Help through all eternity.'' 
 
 February, 1904. 
 
40 Passover Hymn. 
 
 PASSOVER HYMN 
 
 To Thee, our Father's God, we owe 
 The wonders wrought so long ago, 
 When Pharaoh and his myriad hosts 
 Were vanquished with their vaunted boasts; 
 
 When Thou didst lead Thy people o'er 
 The heaving sea, in days of yore, 
 And didst avert from them all harm, 
 With outstretched hand and mighty arm; 
 
 When Amalek, the crafty foe, 
 By treach'ry sought to bring us low, 
 Thou gavest strength to Moses, and 
 Didst set to naught what he had planned. 
 
 When later, in the wilderness. 
 Thy children suffered keen distress, 
 Thou didst, great God, dispatch with speed 
 Sweet manna to relieve their need. 
 
 And water gushed from rocks to still 
 All Israel's thirst, by Thy sheer will; 
 They who rebelled perceived Thy might 
 In cloud by day, in flame by night. 
 
 Thou didst reveal thy Holy Law 
 To fill each human heart with awe. 
 And Sinai's quaking thunder still 
 Proclaims Thy never-changing will. 
 
 Thou spakest through Thy seers and kings 
 To us of everlasting things. 
 
Passover Hymn. 4| 
 
 And with the quick' ning rays of grace 
 Thou didst surround Thy Chosen Race. 
 
 For slavery-chain and funeral pyre 
 Were never symbols of thine ire ; 
 They bruised the flesh and burnt the frame, 
 To make us zealous for Thy Name. 
 
 No pow'r o'er us shall e'er prevail, 
 If Israel falter not nor fail 
 To carry out Thy high behest — 
 O, Lord of Hosts, forever blest! 
 
 March, 1904. 
 
42 By the Rivers of Babel. 
 
 BY THE RIVERS OF BABEL 
 
 (Ninth of Ab, 5661: July 25, 1901) 
 
 We sat by the Rivers of Babel 
 
 And wept o'er the loss of the Shrine, 
 
 But Yahweh, the God of our Fathers, 
 We've never yet learned to resign. 
 
 We sat by the Rivers of Babel — 
 The Harp on the willows we hung ; 
 
 Our hearts were too stricken with sorrow 
 To yield our emotion to song. 
 
 We sat by the Rivers of Babel, 
 
 While Seers were lamenting our woes; 
 
 We thought of the many in exile, 
 Transported from home by their foes. 
 
 We sat by the Rivers of Babel 
 And yearned for the Zion of old, 
 
 Dearer by far to our spirits 
 Than glitter of glory or gold. 
 
 We sit by the Rivers of Babel, 
 The Harp we retune and we sing 
 
 Hosannahs to Yahweh, our Father, 
 Who sheltered us e'er 'neath His wing. 
 
All Saints* Day. 43 
 
 ^^ALL SAINTS' DAY" 
 
 (Ninth of Ab, 5661 : July 25, 1901.) 
 
 Sing low, my heart! this day is sacred still ; 
 Despite the passing tumult of the years, 
 I bring to it the tribute of my tears ; 
 A mystic awe weighs down upon my quill : 
 With inward eye I see the tott'ring wall — 
 The citadel of righteousness — decay, 
 In sight of God, twice on the self-same day; 
 I feel the fetters and the fearsome thrall 
 Which chained my martyred race to Ghetto gate; 
 I see the fagot flame with zealous ire, 
 I hear the cry of faith from out the fire — 
 The tone of love from 'mid the din of hate ; 
 I bless Thy name, O Lord of Hosts, and pray 
 To make all Israel consecrate this day! 
 
44 The Ninth of Ab. 
 
 THE NINTH OF AB. 
 
 (5663.) 
 
 It singeth low in Judah's heart 
 The ancient, plaintive, secret woe, 
 
 When, by the willows of the stream, 
 In Babylon his tears did flow. 
 
 To-day, as then, his harp is mute. 
 The exile still laments and moans. 
 
 And chants the dirges of his grief 
 Beside a holocaust of bones. 
 
 All blanched and charred his kindred lie, 
 The martyred slain, who saw again 
 
 Their Temple sacked, their homes profaned 
 Within the sight of faithless men. 
 
 No prophet voices his complaint 
 
 In elegies of rhythmic prose; 
 The Scriptures writ to-day are read 
 
 In callousness and cold repose. 
 
 Still, in His high and holy place. 
 
 The Lord of Earth holds solemn court 
 
 And He shall judge each deed of blood — 
 Be that deed done in fane or fort. 
 
 To Him, the Father and the Friend 
 Of patriarchs and seers and hosts. 
 
 We leave our destinies resigned — 
 Defying all our foemen's boasts. 
 
The Ninth of Ab. 45 
 
 The Temple will be yet rebuilt 
 And Israel come into his own. 
 
 The voiceless harp shall speak anew 
 With melody and joyous tone. 
 
 No longer shall the Jew repair 
 
 To shattered wall, to weep and pray ; 
 
 The Ninth of Ab shall be to him 
 A consecrated All-Saints' Day. 
 
 No weird lament, nor plaintive dirge 
 Shall echo through the Tents of Shem, 
 
 But hallelujahs shall resound 
 From Beersheba to Bethlehem. 
 
 And allthe world shall pause and hear 
 Those wondrous strains reverberate, 
 
 And every human heart shall sing 
 Of brotherhood, and banish hate. 
 
 And the Messiah, Prince of Peace, 
 
 Shall come and sound his bugle-blast — 
 
 The Living and the Dead shall rise. 
 And bury out of sight the Past. 
 
 August, 1903. 
 
46 I Sing of Thee, O Israel. 
 
 I SING OF THEE, O ISRAEL 
 
 (Rosh ha-Shanah, 5662.) 
 
 I sing of thee, O Israel, yea, triumphantly I sing 
 Of all thy well-earned glory and thine unre- 
 
 membered wrong, 
 The holy love of heaven and thy martyrdom of 
 
 years, 
 A never-ending, everlasting song. 
 
 I sing of thee, O Israel, with exulting in my voice, 
 A psalm of praise and thanksgiving for all that 
 
 thou hast wrought 
 From immemorial days that shine with lustre 
 
 and with light, 
 Until the years their tardy blessings brought. 
 
 I sing of thee, O Israel, and repeat the glad re- 
 frain, 
 Which echoes through the temple-halls, from 
 
 Beersheba to Dan; 
 I love the plaintive accents of thy liturgy and 
 
 prayer 
 And rapturously chant them when I can. 
 
 I sing of thee, O Israel, when the solemn season 
 
 nighs 
 Which brings with it the olden need of inter- 
 course with God; 
 My heart goes out to all my kin, my spirit 
 
 is athril. 
 My soul is moved and strangely overawed. 
 
I Sing of Thee, O Israel. 47 
 
 I sing of thee, O Israel, and commit thee to His 
 
 care. 
 Who tended thee with infinite love and led 
 
 thee by the hand; 
 Who sleepeth not nor slumbereth, amid the 
 
 storm and stress 
 Of evil thou survivest to withstand. 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
46 Rosh Ha-Shanah. 
 
 ROSH HA-SHANAH 
 
 5662 
 
 Eternal God, whose everlasting Grace 
 
 Did shelter us and shield with outstretched 
 
 Hand, 
 We ask for strength to follow Thy command, 
 And pray Thee, Lord, to turn Thy shining Face 
 Upon Thine erstwhile consecrated race ; 
 To cause us all and each to understand 
 That Thou art near to guide us with design 
 Inscrutable; that every passing year 
 Triumpheth over tyranny and fear; 
 That Judah's chosen destiny divine 
 Is guarded by Jehovah, at Whose shrine 
 We swear the ancient statutes to revere — 
 Upon this solemn, soul-uplifting day. 
 We purify our hearts, and pause to pray! 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
Yom Kippur. 49 
 
 YOM KIPPUR 
 
 O Lord of Hosts, Thou Only One, 
 Art radiant in star and sun, 
 '^Thy Will be done!" 
 
 All life is Thine ere life's begun. 
 All life is Thine when life is run, 
 ''Thy Will be done!" 
 
 The scarlet thread of sin is spun, 
 Forgive us. Gracious, Holy One, 
 "Thy Will be done!" 
 
 October, 1900. 
 
50 Prayer for the Day of Atonement. 
 
 PRAYER FOR THE DAY OF ATONEMENT 
 
 (Yom Kippur, 5662.) 
 
 If I have failed, my God, to see 
 
 That Thy great Love was guiding me; 
 
 If I have missed the open path 
 
 Of Truth, which e'er Thy sanction hath; 
 
 If, busy with the passing hour, 
 
 I noted not Thy glorious Power ; 
 
 And, 'mid the boast and pomp of things, 
 
 Restrained my spirit on its wings; 
 
 Then, Father, show me Grace, I pray, 
 
 And lead me toward the righteous way ; 
 
 Then, Lord of Hosts, compassion me. 
 
 And let Thy Love my shelter be! 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
The Death of the Old Year 51 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR 
 
 A Fable 
 (Rosh-ha-Shanah, 5664.) 
 
 Once, long ago, by God's good grace, 
 The old year and the new stood face to face. 
 They bowed to each other politely, then said 
 The New Year to the Old: *'Pray, go to bed; 
 You look so fatigued and fagged out and worn, 
 I'll watch o'er the world, in your stead, till morn!" 
 The Old Year looked up with a rare sweet smile 
 And tenderly answered: "Do tarry a while; 
 And if I no longer can hold up my head 
 I'll let you keep vigil, and then go to bed." 
 The New Year still lingered and tearfully turned 
 His beautiful eyes towards the lamp, that now 
 
 burned 
 Dismal and low, with a flickering glare. 
 As though it were trying to keep off the air ; 
 And there he sat silent, and made not a sign,^ — 
 He knew that that Vigil was all but divine. 
 
 The silvery stars were now fading away. 
 And the sky's sombre black was just turning to 
 
 grey, 
 And the moon's pallid cheeks were becoming fast 
 
 white, 
 As swifter and swifter came Dawn's early light. 
 The Old Year grew weaker and called to his 
 
 friend : 
 **My comrade, my comrade, but this is the End! 
 
52 The Death of the Old Year. 
 
 O promise to do all that I've left undone, 
 And God will reward you when your sands are 
 
 run!" 
 *'l promise," the New Year then solemnly said — 
 And with that the soul of the Old Year was fled. 
 
 September, 1904. 
 
Atonement. 53 
 
 ATONEMENT 
 
 (Kippur, 5664.) 
 
 Great God, if I have strangely erred, 
 Let all my faults be sepulchred ; 
 Great God, if I have foully dealt, 
 Make Anger into Mercy melt ; 
 Great God, if I have failed to do, 
 Vouchsafe Thy Grace to me anew; 
 Great God, if I have wrought but harm, 
 Extend to me Thy Shelt'ring Arm; 
 Great God, with Thee, all humankind, 
 If penitent, shall favor find. 
 
 September, 1904, 
 
54 A Sonnet of Repentance. 
 
 A SONNET OF REPENTANCE 
 (Kippur Eve, 5664.) 
 
 Let not Thy wrath consume me, gracious God, 
 When, bowed down, on the Great White Day I 
 
 stand 
 Before the shrine to grope for Mercy's hand. 
 My inmost being tremulously awed; — 
 When, quite forgetting fleshly needs, I crave, 
 Enveloped in the garments of the grave, 
 Forgiveness for the havoc I have wrought 
 Within my soul. There, desolate and cold, 
 A convict- spirit fearing to be bold, 
 Resides my Better Self whom I have fought 
 Misguidedly, unmindful of the law 
 Which brings us with our misdeeds face to face. 
 But now contrite, I supplicate thy grace 
 That from the path of sin I may withdraw. 
 
 September, 1903. 
 
The Hammer of the Lord. 55 
 
 THE HAMMER OF THE LORD 
 
 When Malice vies with Envy to proclaim 
 That Israel had the courage to excel 
 In all the arts of Peace, — but to rebel 
 Against the tyrant and achieve proud Fame, 
 By dint of prowess worthy of its name, 
 And, sword in hand, to glory as he fell 
 Upon the battlefield, he did not dare, — 
 I charge thee, read the Record of the deeds 
 The Maccabees accomplished ; how they freed 
 Their kinsmen from the yoke ; and in the flare 
 Of trumpet-sound and triumph scorned the greed 
 Of pillage; and but hastened to repair 
 The hallowed Shrine, polluted by the foe, 
 Whose wanton boasts the Lord of Hosts laid low. 
 
 February, 190L 
 
56 Convert Your Own Heathen. 
 
 CONVERT YOUR OWN HEATHEN 
 
 Convert your own heathen, let the pagan pray 
 To his ancient idols in his ancient way ; 
 What to you is sacred, is his wanton whim — 
 Your God is Jehovah, his are Elohim. 
 
 In your right the Bible, in your left the sword. 
 You have preached the Gospel while the cannon 
 
 roared ; 
 Priests are singing anthems, soldiers sack and 
 
 loot; 
 The True Faith you planted has not taken root. 
 
 Not the shell a-shrieking, nor the myriad slain, 
 Nor the war-scarred heroes, nor the martyrs* 
 
 pain 
 Add a jot to glory or a gain to God, 
 If you barter honor for an inch of clod. 
 
 Why send missionaries to the aged East? 
 Why seek to unbridle there the human beast? 
 Worship in your temples — pagoda or mosque 
 Gleam alike resplendent in the darkest dusk. 
 
 You revere the Fathers of the Early Church, 
 They the Tomb of Ages diligently search : 
 Where Ancestors slumber they kneel at the 
 
 shrine 
 Of the dead whose solace no man can resign. 
 
 In the sight of Heaven all is pious prayer. 
 Whether cross or crescent talismans you wear, 
 
Convert Your Own Heathen. 57 
 
 Whether o'er the altar incense floats or not, 
 Whether you be Hebrew, Greek, or Hottentot. 
 
 Why this fevered frenzy human souls to save? 
 God will never forfeit what in love He gave ; 
 If your heart be holy and your purpose fair, 
 You may leave your Spirit in your Maker's care! 
 
 Thrust not your Religion on the heathen host, 
 Do not make a fetich of your culture's boast, 
 Civilize the nations, teach them to refrain 
 From the lust of power at the cost of pain. 
 
 Do not crush the soul-life of the savage brave. 
 Do not drive the godless to a godless grave. 
 Spare your human brother, though he bestial be, 
 Many hymns are sung to one celestial Key. 
 
 Convert your own heathen, let the pagan pray 
 To his ancient idols in his ancient way ; 
 What to you is sacred, is his wanton whim — 
 Your God is Jehovah, his are Elohim. 
 
 September, 1900. 
 
58 Ruin, Britannia. 
 
 RUIN, BRITANNIA! 
 
 Cheer for the boon of the Briton, leer at the 
 
 bUght of the Boer, 
 God of humanity, witness how they crimson the 
 
 dust with their gore! 
 Transvaal, aglint with the metal, beckons Brit- 
 annia's sons; 
 Men have become mad marauders, the plows 
 have been chained to the guns. 
 
 And myriads are marshalled to battle, the pre- 
 text is righteousness sheer; 
 The lion in anger is roaring, and courage in- 
 tensifies fear. 
 Now look at the mien of the mighty, then glance 
 
 in the eye of the meek. 
 
 And question, with God at your pillow, what 
 
 right has the wrong here to seek? 
 
 Scoff with the scorn of the millions, who rebel 
 
 though they're bid to the feast. 
 
 Ask them if man be His image, or else but a 
 
 beautiful beast 
 
 Whose claws are so fashioned for grasping that 
 
 they rend away sinew and bone, 
 
 Though mercy alone is true judgment, when we 
 
 hear our fellow-men groan. 
 
 And if they vouchsafe the answer which hurtles 
 
 from cannon and shell, 
 And callous to lift up the fallen, they point to the 
 
 fearless that fell. 
 
 Then louder than shriek of the shrapnel and 
 
 keener than clashing of steel 
 
Ruin, Britannia. 59 
 
 Shall ring out your clamorous passion as the 
 words in a prophet's appeal. 
 
 For the isles have been shorn of their verdure 
 
 and doomed are the young and the strong, 
 
 Who were hied with all haste to wreak vengeance 
 
 for the right which the rulers call wrong. 
 
 India's fevered and famished must yield yet 
 
 more victims to slay; 
 The Colonies, Canada, furnish their quota of 
 
 quivering clay. 
 
 O England, once pride of the peerless, the peer 
 
 now, alas, of the proud! 
 Thou Ultima Thule of glory, to whose hand the 
 
 whole universe bowed. 
 At whose feet the world's nations, contending, 
 the homage of reverence laid, 
 Iniquity leadeth thy legions, to guilt not to bat- 
 tle arrayed! 
 
 To reap in the harvest of others, to rob and to 
 
 raid and despoil 
 Thou speedest thy conquering vassals that never 
 
 trod holier soil. 
 'Neath smoldering summits of Sinai now riot and 
 
 revelry laugh; 
 
 Thy prophets hold converse with heaven, thy 
 
 multitudes worship the calf. 
 
 Aye, Naboth has vineyards to covet, when 
 
 Ahabs and Jezebels reign. 
 
 And the Vaal is abloom with the bullion and the 
 
 veldt is aglow with the grain ; 
 
60 Ruin, Britannia. 
 
 Money makes martial the music, Mammon rules 
 
 Saxon and Gaul — 
 
 Kingdoms are builded for conquest, republics 
 
 are fated to fall. 
 
 Lives count for naught in the balance, death is 
 
 a soldier's delight; 
 Creed is the science of slaughter, greed is the 
 
 measure of might. 
 The paupers are taxed by the princes for treas- 
 ure and blood and decay — 
 All hell's ashriek with a clamorous Yes, while 
 the heavens are thundering Nay! 
 
 Cheer for the boon of the Briton, leer at the 
 
 blight of the Boer, 
 God of humanity, witness how they crimson the 
 
 dust with their gore! 
 Transvaal, aglint with the metal, beckons Brit- 
 annia's sons 
 Men have become mad marauders, the plows 
 have been chained to the guns 
 
 September, 1900. 
 
Return, O Pariah. 61 
 
 RETURN, O PARIAH! 
 
 [The most prominent Christian inhabitants of Koenigsberg, 
 Prussia, have signed a petition to the Government to repeal the 
 law which prohibits Russian Jews to sojourn in the interior of 
 Prussia. The petitioners point out the great benefits Prussia reaps 
 from Russian Jewish enterprise in German commerce ; the extra- 
 ordinary relief which these very Jews extended to Christians, as 
 well as their own charitable institutions. The Russian Jews, 
 concludes the petition, are indispensable to the general progress of 
 Koenigsberg, and stagnation must set in in its commercial life the 
 moment an attempt is made by the police to execute the expulsion 
 law. — American Press Report, August 6th, igoo.] 
 
 Return, thou outcast, trodden down. 
 To Koenigsberg, the Prussian town! 
 Both envy and mistrust are quelled. 
 And nothing thrives since thou, expelled. 
 Didst seize anew the wand'rer's staff — 
 A challenge in the sobbing laugh. 
 Which trembled in thy voice and mien 
 Howe'er it strove to seem serene. 
 They greet thee with the kiss of peace, 
 And offer thee their homes to lease; 
 They sway the Council' to repeal 
 The edict — and thy hurt to heal 
 They tell thee how they yearn for thee, 
 Thou Pariah of Liberty! 
 Yet no such meed of Christian grace 
 Was meted to the "Chosen Race", 
 In all the gloomy days of old. 
 When every human heart was cold, 
 And heeded not the cries that rose 
 To heaven, full of Israel's woes; — 
 And thoug,h to-dey this tragic tribe 
 
62 Return, O Pariah. 
 
 Is goaded on with jeer and gibe: 
 
 Behold! the nations need his skill, 
 
 His brain, his purse, his heart, his quill, 
 
 His honest zeal, his eager zest. 
 
 To be the first in every quest; 
 
 They need the strong and subtle touch 
 
 That fashions out of nothing much; 
 
 They need the wand that conjures gold 
 
 (Without him naught is bought or sold) ; — 
 
 The gold his boon, the gold his bane: 
 
 It saved him when all else was vain; 
 
 It made him and it marred him too ; 
 
 It bade him strive; it dared him do; 
 
 It brought him friend, it brought him foe; 
 
 It thrilled him through the thrall and throe 
 
 Of exile and of banishment — 
 
 For with this rod, where'er he went, 
 
 He parted wide the ocean's bed. 
 
 And crossed the roaring Seas of Red, 
 
 Dyed crimson with the blood of those 
 
 Who dared the tyrant to oppose — 
 
 But yet he hoarded not the gold 
 
 His diligence had gained and doled: 
 
 To have, according to the Law 
 
 (And this he daily prayed with awe,) 
 
 Was but to give a goodly part. 
 
 With open hand and willing heart. 
 
 For charity, the Rabbins say. 
 
 Is plea enough, on Judgment Day, 
 
 To save the soul from sin and thrall. 
 
 And wing it unto God withal. 
 
 And thus the Jew, his soul to save. 
 
 His mite to every nation gave; 
 
Return, O Pariah. 63 
 
 He paid his tithe, the Levite's due, 
 
 The half, the whole, he offered too, 
 
 For Golgotha or Zion, when 
 
 Mere self alone stirred other men ; 
 
 For kith or kin, or country's weal. 
 
 For shrines at which he could not kneel, 
 
 Without betraying sacred trust, 
 
 — Though humbled to the very dust, — 
 
 He sacrificed, with hallowed mien. 
 
 His best to serve the Nazarene; 
 
 His heart the world's — his faith alone 
 
 Remained unswerving, e'er his own, 
 
 Although he saw the Hallowed One 
 
 In mitred priest and vandal Hun. 
 
 The Golden Rule which Moses taught, 
 
 And Hillel into precept wrought. 
 
 And Jesus gently interwove 
 
 With love which over duty strove. 
 
 The Jew alone of all the creeds 
 
 Did crystallize in loving deeds. 
 
 The mandate sounds still true, though dim; 
 
 *'One law for thee, one law for him, 
 
 Who lives estranged within thy gates." 
 
 The Lord of Hosts no stranger hates — 
 
 And if, perchance, rude human hands 
 
 Dare set to naught His high commands; 
 
 Or malice, with the sword of might, 
 
 Stain crimson all the pure and white. 
 
 And making courage but the creed 
 
 Of ruthless lust and savage greed, 
 
 Presume to mock the deathless Law 
 
 Which fills the Universe with awe : 
 
 Then swift and dire, 'tis so ordained, 
 
 r 
 
64 Return, O Pariah. 
 
 For innocence, so spotless, stained, 
 Shall flash the wrath of Wronged Right, 
 In glare of day or dark of night. 
 From those alert, eternal skies. 
 Whence peer the Everlasting Eyes, 
 That neither sleep nor slumber know. 
 And weep when Israel's lot is woe. — 
 * >ii * 
 
 Justice cannot be blindfolded: 
 
 Nations' destinies are molded 
 
 By a Law, whose Book of Ages, 
 
 Interleaved with unknown pages, 
 
 Tells of races long forgotten. 
 
 Sin bequeathing, sin-begotten, 
 
 For where Righteousness is wanting, 
 
 Soon decay must end the vaunting. 
 
 God has tested us and sifted. 
 
 And the worthy He has Hfted 
 
 Nearer to His throned station. 
 
 Where the Pure of every nation 
 
 — So the Rabbins promised often — 
 
 Into purer rays shall soften ; 
 
 Where the outcast, spurned and scorned, 
 
 Crowned shall be and light-adorned; 
 
 And the plea for mercy quivers 
 
 Like an anthem o'er the rivers; 
 
 Sweet with incense, hushed with glory. 
 
 Sung in psalm and told in story. 
 
 Praying to One Mundi Lumen, 
 
 Till the human heart is human, 
 
 And the spirit, upward soaring, 
 
 God alone shall be adoring! 
 
 August, 1900. 
 
Kaddish for Zion. 65 
 
 KADDISH FOR ZION 
 
 A Dirge for the Ninth of Ab, 5660. 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, for Zion of old, 
 When level with desolate dust 
 The violent heathen in purple and gold 
 Ruthlessly ravished her trust. 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, for Zion of old, 
 The temple destroyed and despoiled, 
 The vessels polluted by vandal hands bold, 
 The Beauty of Holiness soiled. 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, for Zion anew. 
 For Zion so wond'rously fair; 
 Her visions unfolding the spirit to view; 
 Her Sinais aflash in the flare. 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, for Zion to-day, 
 The Ninth of the Dread Moon of Ab, 
 What cares for ideals and for memories, pray, 
 The backsliding, stiffnecked mob? 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, for Israel's proud 
 
 cant 
 Of kissing Jerusalem's walls. 
 O hear me, Adonay! I yearningly chant. 
 While Zion is thrilled with her thralls. 
 
 Say Kaddish, say Kaddish, with lingering woe, 
 And sing with the Prophet a dirge. 
 Within, not without, now vaunteth the foe; 
 The spirit is swept by a scourge. 
 
 August, 1900. 
 
66 Israel's Weltschmerz. 
 
 ISRAEL'S WELTSCHMERZ 
 
 (Dedicated to one who would found a School of Jewish 
 Poetry.) 
 
 Dost seek to rouse the minstrelsy of woe, 
 Which quivers 'long the chords of Judah's heart? 
 Wouldst bid the unwept tears of anguish start 
 He garnered to his aching breast? They flow 
 Unbidden, when no human eye perceives 
 The bitterness they symbolize, but God's; 
 When he, who loves him least of all, most lauds 
 The martyrdom of pent-up sighs he heaves; 
 Wouldst have him sing, — as David and the seers, 
 The troubadours of Zion's Golden Age, 
 Once sang of Joy in Sorrow's gilded cage — 
 With all Life's tumult beating on his ears? 
 O let no hymn of Andalusian Spain 
 Revive the Mem'ry of forgotten Pain! 
 
 February, 1901. 
 
Zionists' Song. 67 
 
 ZIONISTS' SONG 
 (**How Long, O Lord?'') 
 
 I. 
 
 How long, O Lord, 
 
 The thrill and throe. 
 The filling of our cup of woe. 
 
 The vaunting boast of Israel's foe — 
 How long, O Lord, how long? 
 
 II. 
 We fear to close 
 
 Our weary eyes, 
 0*er land and sea dark treachery lies. 
 
 On Thee alone our hope relies; — 
 How long, O Lord, how long? 
 
 III. 
 How long, O Lord, 
 
 This wizard-spell. 
 This muffled moan, this solemn knell, 
 
 The plaintive dirge of those that fell, — 
 Because they loved Thee, Lord? 
 
 IV. 
 
 A myriad host 
 
 Of martyred slaves 
 Will rise from out their open graves 
 
 And march with girded loins, like braves,- 
 Led forth by thee, O Lord! 
 
 V. 
 
 Save Zion now 
 
 From vandal hands; 
 
68 Zionists' Song. 
 
 O gather us from many lands, 
 
 We vow to heed all Thy commands- 
 Redeem us, Lord of Hosts! 
 
 February, 1901. 
 
The Pariah's Prayer. 69 
 
 THE PARIAH'S PRAYER 
 
 (Kishineff, April, 1903.) 
 
 I. 
 
 O sires of Anglo-Saxon blood, 
 
 Whose forebears fought at Lexington, 
 Whose guiltless freedom, at its flood, 
 
 Was wrested from the ^'faithless one"; 
 To you, proud yeomen of the world. 
 
 The Sovereign Lords of Land and Sea, 
 Whose unstained standards are unfurled — 
 
 To you we come on bended knee. 
 
 n. 
 
 America, O champion Knight, 
 
 Thou, erstwhile, on these very shores 
 Didst battle in the cause of right! 
 
 We knock at thy wide open doors. 
 With fettered hands that helpless are; 
 
 In God's own name we supplicate 
 To hold them still for us ajar. 
 
 And shield us from the Russian's hate. 
 
 III. 
 We, children of the Martyred Race, 
 
 Are freemen, and proud kinship claim 
 With Lincoln of the shining face. 
 
 Who gave to Liberty a name ; — 
 We charge you solemnly to spare 
 
 The outraged, outcast, steadfast Jew, 
 Who fell into the fowler's snare; 
 
 Who, maimed and bruised, cries out to you ! 
 
 April, 1903. 
 
70 Kishineff. 
 
 KISHINEFF 
 
 God, our fathers' God, have mercy, 
 Since to pray to men is vain. 
 
 Thou alone canst stay the slaughter, 
 Thou alone canst heal our pain. 
 
 Thou alone canst guard the blameless 
 
 From the burly, brutal toe, 
 O be mindful of our anguish. 
 
 Humbled are we, high and low. 
 
 The defenseless and the outraged. 
 And the maimed who cannot lift 
 
 Aloft their palsied arms in prayer. 
 And who have no other gift 
 
 Save Devotion pure and simple. 
 Love of Thee and fear of sin ; — 
 
 Shield, O shield. Eternal Father, 
 From the men who hem them in; 
 
 From the lawless and the savage 
 Who make mock of Thy command, 
 
 Who, with frenzied hate and fury. 
 
 Set to naught what Thou hast planned. 
 
 Crown the martyrs, brave and holy. 
 Who were sacrificed and slain — 
 
 God, our father's God, O hear us, 
 Since to pray to men is vain! 
 
 May, 1903. 
 
A Prayer for Kishineff. 71 
 
 A PRAYER FOR KISHINEFF 
 
 God of our Fathers, Lord of Hosts, 
 Our shield, defense and battle-cry, 
 
 Who, when Thou punishest our boasts. 
 
 Dost downward look with streaming eye,- 
 Take pity on the martyred braves, 
 
 Who found at Kishineff their graves. 
 
 God of our Fathers, Lord of Hosts, 
 Who didst vouchsafe us e'er and now. 
 Abundantly Thy meed of grace. 
 
 Teach us to bear and meekly bow, — 
 Send down on them Thy healing balm, 
 Who came at Kishineff to harm. 
 
 God of our Fathers, Lord of Hosts, 
 Who watchest o'er with tender care 
 The scattered remnants of thy Race, 
 We supplicate Thee, spare, o spare, 
 The hunted and the trodden-down. 
 In Kishineff, the godless town. 
 
 God of our Fathers, Lord of Hosts, 
 Be with us still, we need Thee sore — 
 Poor victims of man's savage hate, 
 
 Which slakes its ruthless thirst with gore,- 
 O take the sacrificed and slain 
 Of Kishineff to Thee again! 
 
 May, 1903, 
 
72 To the Christian Nation. 
 
 TO THE CHRISTIAN NATION 
 December 25, 1904 
 TEXT: "Why do the peoples rage?" {Psalm 11:1) 
 
 When shall this tumult cease, and nations learn 
 That violence is bestial, and cries out 
 Each pious Christian's sacrilegious doubt? 
 Wherefore the raging, and the vaunting boast, 
 The lust of power, the armor-laden host. 
 The flame of vengeance, swift to flare and burn? 
 Is this the creed and tenet of the Jew, 
 Who preached his gentle doctrine, in the days 
 When Galilee — ^the parting of the ways — 
 Was strangely full of peace? Shall he arise. 
 With tears of pity streaming from his eyes, 
 From Golgotha, to say this unto you: 
 **Forgive them, God, they know not what they 
 
 do! 
 These Christians, strangely purblind in their 
 
 view!'' 
 
An Apostrophe to Christ. 73 
 
 AN APOSTROPHE TO CHRIST 
 
 December 25, 1905. 
 
 I. 
 
 Arise, O Christ, for now they need thee sore : 
 These slaves in cowl and cassock who adore 
 The image of the cross. In thy great name 
 They wield the sword and light the fagot-flame, 
 And kindle lust and brutalized desire, 
 And drag thy gentle precepts in the mire, 
 And wreak unhallowed vengeance for the lie: 
 That thine own brethren sentenced thee to die! 
 
 II. 
 
 Come down, O crucified, and stanch the blood 
 Of all thy kinsmen, flowing in a flood; 
 Extend the hand that cunning knew to heal 
 Of old, in Galilee, when mute appeal 
 Sufficed to bring sweet pity to thine eyes ; — 
 O comfort now thy nation's agonies. 
 Bind up its wounds, Samaritan the good. 
 Who taughtest men the test of brotherhood. 
 
74 Sonnet. 
 
 SONNET* 
 
 Thy spirit, Sage, is ever on the wing. 
 
 And, soaring midway 'twixt the earth and sky, 
 Those higher kindred of thy soul draw nigh 
 To whom thy lofty thoughts, transfigured, cling. 
 From wrinkled parchment and decaying script, 
 Thou lurest long-lost Wisdom fragmentwise, 
 Rejoicing and enlightening the eyes. 
 There's none in modern Jewry, thus equipped, 
 To teach the truth and spread abroad The Law, 
 And with the peal of prophecy intone 
 How Beauty shines in Holiness alone. 
 And that to hold the Spirit well in awe 
 The letter must be guarded, not forsook. 
 Ye Race of Priests, Ye People of the Book! 
 
 * Suggested by Professor Schechter's luminous Epistle on "Spiritual 
 Religion," in the Jewish Chronicle, November 30th, 1899. 
 
 January, 1901. 
 
A Sonnet of Greeting. 75 
 
 A SONNET OF GREETING 
 
 (Inscribed to Professor Schechter, on his arrival in America, 
 April 17th, 1902.) 
 
 Be happy, though here no Genizah waits 
 For wizard-spell ; albeit no parchment hoar 
 Doth languish in our lumber-rooms of lore ; 
 In this New World, behind dull garret-gates, 
 No Wisdom lurks. Papyrus-roll and rune, 
 And codices from far Kai-Fung-Fu's fanes 
 Are garnered by our traders tor their gains! 
 But yet we give thee cheer, and ask the boon 
 Of comradeship among thy treasured books: 
 Be thou a friend, who gently overlooks 
 Our many faults of mind ; who will sustain. 
 With counsel and incomparable pen. 
 The high resolves which move us, weaker men, 
 The holy truths thou teachest to attain! 
 
76 Dreyfus. 
 
 DREYFUS 
 
 When France, regardless of her noble creed, 
 
 Betrayed thee foully into traitorous hands. 
 
 Defiant of a righteous God's commands, 
 
 And chained thee, guiltless of unhallow'd deed, 
 
 With impious torture till thy soul did bleed, 
 
 Upon a sun-scorched solitary rock, 
 
 To perish of thy crimson shame and mock ; 
 
 Thy honor sold, thy sword a broken reed; 
 
 (Could human anguish be more exquisite?) — 
 
 Ah, then spake Truth, prophetic and sublime. 
 
 And, as of old, appeared a wondrous writ* 
 
 Amid this feasting infamy of crime : 
 
 To tell thee, France, that Heaven's lamps are lit. 
 
 And Justice reigns unto the end of Time. 
 
 May, 1901, 
 
 *Zola's *'J'accuse," arraigning the Republic in defense of Dreyfus. 
 
To Theodore Herzl. 77 
 
 TO THEODORE HERZL* 
 
 Who called thee to such holy, high estate? 
 Who taught thy lips the all-redeeming Word, 
 Which touched us to emotion, as we heard. 
 And soars aloft to Him, That guides our fate? 
 Who kindled Ardor's undiminished flame: 
 To make thee bold and eager to attain, 
 Despite of all that gives thee deepest pain, 
 The highest good, not evanescent fame? 
 Who doth sustain the skyward lifted hand — 
 The hopeful sign and symbol of our zeal, 
 Upraised high our shattered nerves to steel, 
 As if in warning that we dauntless stand? — 
 It is the God within the Nation's soul 
 That spurs him on to dare to do the right; 
 He guides his steps and steadieth his sight 
 That he may strive unswerving towards the goal. 
 Like all true servants of the living God 
 Thou gavest heed to that Celestial Voice, 
 And didst assume our burdens, of thy choice — 
 Thy heart inspired, thy spirit overawed. 
 Remain our true exemplar in the Strife, 
 Though good reward or evil be thy share ; 
 We follow thee, for Zion, everywhere 
 To struggle for the newly dawning life! 
 
 January, 1902. 
 
 ^Translated from the German of Rev. Dr. Gustav Gottheil, 
 
78 The Vindication of Captain Dreyfus. 
 
 THE VINDICATION OF CAPTAIN 
 DREYFUS 
 
 Draw nearer to the throne of humbled France! 
 Her welcome arms now wistfully receive 
 The valiant soldier, sent home on reprieve. — 
 She looks not at thy pallid face askance, 
 But, moved to deep compassion for thy fate, 
 She beckons Justice nigher, that she may 
 Persuade thee that her guilt is washed away, 
 And that thy pain has purged France of her hate. 
 Now doth the Goddess lead thy faltering feet, 
 And thou hast need of courage but to take 
 Thine own again, for thy great country's sake. 
 Behold France rising from her sovereign seat 
 To offer thee thy broken sword, repaired, 
 For,* verily, thou'st dared what none have dared! 
 
 April, 1904. 
 
Moritz Steinschneider. 79 
 
 MORITZ STEINSCHNEIDER 
 
 (Commemorative of his 86th Birthday, March 30th, 1902.) 
 
 His strength unspent, with purpose keen and 
 
 bold, 
 He still performs those Titan-tasks of yore 
 Which brought him fame and placed him in the 
 
 fore 
 Of Glory's stately ranks. Why call him old 
 Who wields the Spirit's Sword with such disdain 
 Of battle-din and tumult? In whose trqin 
 A host of brave disciples still contend 
 For what we covet most in life: The Truth? 
 Ah, nay, these are but symbols of his youth. 
 These teeming years, not tokens of the end ; 
 They cannot be an earnest of decay 
 For, lo! he still doth marshal in array 
 Those splendid thoughts, whose armament is 
 
 Light, 
 To pierce and penetrate the deepest night. 
 
80 To Naphtali Herz Imber. 
 
 TO NAPHTALI HERZ IMBER* 
 
 Now hath he come at last into his own 
 The ancient bard, whose Rubaiyat alone 
 Gives counsel in a polyglot of tongues 
 And seldom speaks a dreary monotone. 
 
 Here music stirs the subtlest and the best 
 And lulls each vague uneasiness to rest; 
 Here whisper gentle houri-voices low 
 Sweet secrets from the borders of the blest. 
 
 'Twas left to thee, O Imber, to restore 
 The matchless cadence of old Khayyam's lore 
 And him in lyric fervor to surpass. 
 As none hath ventured hitherto before. 
 
 All Israel's bards re-echo in thy heart! 
 
 So wondrous is thy imitative art 
 
 That, were the master here to read thy rhyme 
 
 He'd hail thee as his very counterpart. 
 
 Indeed, the Persian Poet of the Wine — 
 Thy kindred by some ordinance divine — 
 Hath pledged thee in the ruddy tankard's glow 
 And made more fragrant every noble line. 
 
 What care we if thou'rt vassal to the bowl 
 The Sultan-Grape rules every poet's soul 
 
 * Inscribed to Imber, and prefixed to his HA-KOS, a Hebrew 
 translation of Fitzgerald's version of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 
 (New York, 1905). 
 
To Naphtali Herz Imber. 81 
 
 And mitred priest and cowled anchorite 
 Are subject to the TuHp- Cup's control. 
 
 Go, quench thy thirst! no morbid eye shall glance 
 At thy dishevelled, silvering locks askance. 
 Remain our frenzied troubadour of rhyme 
 And rouse the slumb'ring Omars from their 
 
 trance! 
 
 May, 1905. 
 
82 To Dr. Albert A. Berg. 
 
 TO DR. ALBERT A. BERG 
 
 If my frail hands were fashioned firm as thine, 
 So supple, dext'rous, tender with the grace 
 Of touch and healing, fain would I then trace 
 With rev'rent fingers blessings on thy face; 
 But God Himself has set His seal divine 
 So surely on that classic brow of thine, 
 And stamped it with the Genius of thy Race, 
 That neither priest nor prophet need to lift 
 His voice in pray'r, to vouchsafe thee a gift; 
 Great gifts are thine: the Hebrew's passionate 
 
 heart 
 His nobleness, proud lineage and lore. 
 His subtle sympathy, the wizard art 
 To cauterize and cure each wounded part — 
 And make life saner, sweeter than before! 
 
 April, 1910. 
 
Sonnet to a Friend. 83 
 
 SONNET TO A FRIEND 
 
 (ACROSTIC) 
 
 Here, gentle friend, where genial skies look down, 
 And frolic laughs at every gathering frown;— 
 Removed from dull convention and deceit, 
 Remote from cities swelt'ring in their heat — 
 Your comradeship and charming presence lend 
 Joy to each moment's comfortable trend ; 
 And when, besides, your humor flows like wine, 
 Can one like me have courage to repine? 
 Or feel the irk and weariness of things 
 Before the Spirit's upward soaring wings? 
 Know then, dear friend, and mark this to be 
 
 true: 
 Unconsciously my heart goes out to you; 
 God's blessings rest upon your faithful head! 
 EL Shaddai give you Manna for your bread! 
 
 August, 1910. 
 
84 The Jewish Emigrant's Hymn. 
 
 THE JEWISH EMIGRANT'S HYMN 
 
 This is the Canaan of Promise 
 Bequeathed to our Fathers of yore 
 Flowing with milk and with honey 
 And not with oppression and gore ! 
 
 Stalwart as Lebanon's Cedars 
 And fragrant as tapering pine 
 Its men are as strong as Anakim 
 Its women as soft as the vine. 
 
 We hail thee, sail-studded harbor, 
 We greet thee, hospitable shore. 
 With fingers uplifted to Heaven 
 We call on the God we adore: 
 
 We swear to give love and allegiance 
 To the Land, where sweet Liberty reigns 
 And pray th' Eternal above us 
 To hallow our pleasures and pains! 
 
 Hear us! we mean to be loyal 
 For now that the Red Sea is crossed 
 Thy Light is our Pillar of Fire 
 And Egypt forever is lost. 
 
 Here Slavery's fetters are broken; 
 Here all men are equal and free ; 
 The flesh is not bruised by the knout. 
 The frail is not felled like a tree. 
 
The Jewish Emigrant's Hymn. 85 
 
 This is the Land of the Homeless : 
 Of Teuton and Semite and Gaul ; 
 The Stars and the Stripes are floating 
 Alike over each one and all. 
 
 This is the Canaan of Promise 
 Bequeathed to our Fathers of yore. 
 Flowing with milk, and with honey 
 And not with oppression and gore I 
 
 February, 1901. 
 
86 The Higher Anthropomorphism. 
 
 THE HIGHER ANTHROPOMORPHISM 
 
 I love Thee God and fear Thee, not as they 
 Who imaged Thee in every floating cloud, 
 And tremblingly their stricken shoulders bowed, 
 Whene'er the skies were overcast and gray. 
 Or thunders crashed, or lightnings leaped about 
 To smite men with the terror of the Lord ; — 
 Such craven weaklings fearfully adored: 
 They worshiped Thee in misgiving and doubt, 
 And brought to Thee their incense and their 
 
 prayer, 
 And sacrificed nigh all they had to give. 
 In awe of Thee, that kith and kin might live ; — 
 But, I, O Father, creature of thy care, 
 Look trustingly aloft into thy Face 
 And realize that Thou art Love and Grace! 
 
 August, 1901. 
 
Caritas. 87 
 
 CARITAS* 
 
 To thee we rear this love-wrought monument 
 Philanthropy! enveloped in the flesh: 
 To consecrate the blessed name afresh 
 Of selfless twain, who scorned emolument, 
 And thus exalt the Merit we esteem. — 
 This graceful symbol pointing to the skies. 
 Shall rivet the beholder with surprise; 
 Upon its upturned face the sun's bright gleam 
 Shall glow, and guild the message graven there 
 That Virtue, linked with Charity abides. 
 And that this Creedless Shrine all glory hides 
 Save that of Good ; — that Mercy is not rare 
 If such true lives are dedicate to do 
 What God allots, in wisdom, but to few. 
 
 February, 1901. 
 
 *LInes suggested by the projected Memorial in honor of Baron and 
 Baroness de Hirsch, in New York City. 
 
88 The Royal Robe, 
 
 THE ROYAL ROBE 
 
 (A theme suggested by the publication of the "Jewish Encyclopedia.") 
 
 The shuttle flies, the cloth is being spun 
 To drape a form that shivered long in rags, 
 And journeyed from the mire, to reach the crags, 
 Along the lowlands, where the rising sun 
 Caressed him (as he passed, with staff in hand,) 
 The homeless Jew, with nothing but a Book 
 For comradeship, when all else he forsook, 
 To pilgrim to his God, o'er sea and land; 
 Unswerving in his purpose as the stars, 
 That, in their courses, fought for him, of yore, 
 When, wounded sore, the tattered Remnant bore 
 The Ark to victory. — ^A myriad scars 
 He hides beneath his threadbare gabardine, 
 Which now the Purple covers with its sheen. 
 
 February, 1901. 
 
From Strength to Strength. 89 
 
 FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH* 
 
 Sons of the Covenant, glory-crowned, 
 
 Who sprang from out the loins of seers, 
 The glad hosannas that resound 
 
 Do homage to your fifty years; 
 They chant the Spirit's glad refrain, 
 
 They voice the People's proud acclaim, 
 With festal song, in every fane. 
 
 All vie to magnify your name ; 
 Where'er the Sons of Abraham dwell. 
 
 They bless the deeds you've wrought so well! 
 
 Sons of the Covenant, far and wide, 
 
 From sun-lit land to ocean shore, 
 We bid you ever to abide 
 
 By Him of old, Whom we adore: 
 To serve the cause of right, and stay 
 
 The hand of wrong, which seeks to wreak 
 Each passing year, each passing day. 
 
 Unhallowed vengeance on the weak — 
 Remain the refuge and the hope 
 
 Of all, who in deep darkness grope! 
 
 * Lines dedicated to the officers and members of the Independent 
 Order B'nai B'rith, on the occasion of its Golden Jubilee, March 8th, 
 1903. 
 
90 My Father's Bible. 
 
 MY FATHER'S BIBLE 
 In Memoriam-April 22, 1842. 
 
 I. 
 
 My many shelves are filled with costly tomes, 
 All variously old, and wrapped in skins. 
 Like sombre monks, enveloped to their chins; — 
 There are among them bindings from the homes 
 And workshops of the masters of the trades: 
 Parchment, vellum, sheepskin, half morocco, 
 Smell of midnight oil, and stale tobacco, 
 That breathe the scent of their possessors' 
 
 grades; — 
 There are, too, new books, sumpt'ously arrayed 
 In modern garb — uncut and deckle-edged- 
 Resplendent in their gilt, and deftly made. 
 Which, more than once, in trouble, I have 
 
 pledged, 
 But none of these respond to my caress, 
 When I'm in quest of long-lost happiness. 
 
 II. 
 
 There is one book, far dearer than the rest, 
 Upon my treasured shelves: It is not bound 
 In costly skin or vellum, yet profound 
 Is the esteem and rev'rence in my breast, 
 As I now lift it from its wonted place. 
 To bless it first, and read it for a space: — 
 It gives me comfort now, though time was when 
 Fierce anguish smote my soul, as, all unseen, 
 The crumbled leaves I turned, and saw between 
 The crystal drops of sorrow once again 
 
My Father's Bible. 91 
 
 Which wrung my blessed father's spirit then; — 
 But now I read it, ever so serene, 
 And close the BIBLE gently, when IVe done, 
 And kiss its covers, too, when I'm alone. 
 
 April, 1904. 
 
92 The Song of Songs. 
 
 THE SONG OF SONGS 
 
 I am asleep, but my heart is awake 
 To the glory of Life and its beauty, 
 To the discord and conflict of Duty, 
 To all the stress which makes the Spirit quake 
 With thunderous tumult and the still small Voice; 
 I slumber, but my soul is strangely stirred: 
 It soars, unfettered, like a startled bird, 
 Beyond the pale, where pallid men rejoice 
 That Sorrow spares them still. In that high 
 
 sphere 
 Of Purpose and Communing with one's God, 
 Where every sense is thrilled and overawed 
 By something far removed from fleshly fear — 
 My waking heart strikes one celestial chord 
 And, singing low, reposes in the Lord. 
 
 January, 1905. 
 
In Darkness. 93 
 
 IN DARKNESS* 
 
 I. 
 
 My books are orphaned, and they stand 
 Sequestered on their silent shelves; 
 Dejectedly around them still 
 My mournful thoughts disport themselves. 
 
 II. 
 
 Closed shall they be, for evermore, 
 My treasured tomes, that proved to be 
 A solace in my every woe 
 Bright stars in life's deep misery. 
 
 III. 
 
 They once did send a ray of light 
 Across my all too dreary way 
 And quickened me with hope anew 
 In GalutKs lonely night and day. 
 
 IV. 
 Here in this book yet burns the flame 
 Which kindled and sustained my soul. 
 Here are the weapons which I raised 
 Against the baleful Fate's control. 
 
 V. 
 
 But now since darker terrors loom 
 And blindness brings eternal night 
 
 * Translation of Morris Rosenfeld's poem, entitled: "In der 
 
 Finster." 
 
94 In Darkness. 
 
 Lost is my life's sweet Paradise 
 My book's blank pages give no light. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then fare ye well, ye treasured books 
 Entombed upon your silent shelves; 
 Dejectedly around ye still 
 My mournful thoughts disport themselves. 
 
 March, 1907. 
 
Songs of Degrees. 95 
 
 SONGS OF DEGREES 
 
 (PARAPHRASES of PSALMS CXX and CXXI.) 
 
 PSALM CXX. 
 
 I sought the Lord in my distress 
 He hearkened to my call ; 
 Deliver, Lord, my soul from stress 
 And falsehood's wicked thrall. 
 
 Can unto thee the lying tongue 
 Do aught of wanton guile? 
 Its sting is sharp as arrows flung 
 Its glowing flames defile. 
 
 Alas for me, that must abide 
 
 In Mesech, and must dwell 
 
 In Kedar's tents, where they deride 
 
 The peace I love so well. 
 
 Behold! I keep a silent tongue, 
 But when I move to speak 
 They meditate but strife and wrong 
 And overrule the meek. 
 
 PSALM CXXI. 
 
 Aloft the everlasting hills 
 I lift mine anxious eyes. 
 Encompassed by surrounding ills 
 On Thee my hope relies. 
 
96 Songs of Degrees. 
 
 My help, behold! it cometh swift 
 From Him Who made the earth, 
 To Whom all Nature owes her gift 
 And Heaven, too, its birth. 
 
 He'll suffer not thy falt'ring foot 
 To ever go astray. 
 
 He slumb'reth not, thou mayest put 
 Thy trust in Him alway. 
 
 Lo! Israel's keeper sleepeth not, 
 Nor doth He e'er grow faint: 
 Thy shadow, when the sun glows hot. 
 Thy right hand's kind restraint. 
 
 By day no fiery dart shall smite 
 Thine unprotected head, 
 The moonbeams of the kindling night 
 Shall no discomfort shed. 
 
 The Lord preserveth thee from woe 
 And safeguardeth thy soul; 
 He watcheth thee both come and go. 
 As on the seasons roll. 
 
Does He Know Now? 97 
 
 DOES HE KNOW NOW? 
 (An Ode to Robert Ingersoll.) 
 
 Thou too, most wondrous conjurer of doubt, 
 Whose epigrams have put thy peers to rout ; 
 Whose scorpion-sting has stung to nameless 
 
 scorn 
 The myriad-minded fancies that adorn 
 The faith, the hope, the logic of the brave — 
 Thou, too, at last, hast found a godless grave, 
 Wherein are laid beneath the worm-worn sod 
 Thy mighty instincts that were born of God ; 
 The charm, the force, the stress, the afterglow 
 Of power that like cataracts did flow, 
 And now, in the holy hush of listless dreams. 
 Forever stilled and hushed and listless seems. 
 Dost thou yet cling with all-denying doubt 
 To fevered phantoms roaming 'round about? 
 Or hast thou learnt, in star-lit planet spheres, 
 The noblest truth which mystery reveres? 
 And failing that, hast learnt, at last, to bear 
 With all the whims and aims and errors rare 
 Which man, weaving in the loom of lowly time, 
 Spins and broiders with reasoned thread of rhyme 
 Into silken-shimmered curtains that are spread 
 O'er those aims and whims and errors, when 
 
 they're dead? 
 Canst now tell us, from thy resting place, 
 Of His unending, unabating grace? 
 Or art still proud, still prone to prophesy 
 That man, human only, needs must die? 
 
98 Does He Know Now? 
 
 Thy tongue, so truth-betouched, so silver- tipped, 
 — For who dare deny thee this God-given gift? — 
 Fain would recall the phrase of long ago : 
 "I DO NOT KNOW! " 
 
 July, 1899. 
 
Isaac Mayer Wise. 99 
 
 ISAAC MAYER WISE 
 
 Here resteth in the arms of soft repose, 
 A sage esteemed alike of friends and foes ; 
 Who ne'er did wrong with conscious will or whim. 
 And through the maze and mist looked up to 
 
 Him 
 With vision keener than the quest of men 
 Who gaze a- dream, and dream a- gaze again 
 Upon the flitting Shadow of His grace. 
 And fail to see His Glory face to face. 
 God's spirit stirred his soul and moved his will, 
 And moves and stirs us each when all is still 
 And silent as the speechless dust which holds 
 The frame enthralled beneath its throbbing 
 
 molds. 
 The stress which swayed his high and proud de- 
 sire 
 Was tempered zeal, which flared and flamed like 
 
 fire. 
 And unconsumed, because not overfed. 
 It kindled light where darkness reigned instead. 
 Because he ruled, while other men are led, 
 Let no man whisper ill against the dead. 
 But rather breathe a blessing 'pon the name 
 Which laurels him and Israel all with fame. 
 The precept Pope so nobly felt and voiced 
 His heart and mind held always equipoised : 
 "For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, 
 He ne'er is wrong whose life is in the right!" 
 
 March, 1900. 
 
100 David Kaufmann. 
 
 DAVID KAUFMANN 
 
 (In memoriam-oJ. July, 1899.) 
 
 Amid the murm'ring din and seething strife 
 Of all the world's contending victories, 
 Thou, modest scholar, writing histories 
 
 Hast caused Judaea's past to pulse with life; 
 Hast conjured, with the magic of thy touch, 
 
 Whose quiver had the thrill of the sublime. 
 
 The soul from its clay ; and hast rescued time 
 From its only foe: oblivion's clutch. 
 
 Which holds enthralled beneath its aged crust 
 The teeming mysteries of throbbing thought 
 So many tried to find, yet few have sought 
 
 To read aright, and read aright, to trust. 
 Great Poet-Thinker, Critic of the Past, 
 Thine is a memory to live, to last! 
 
 August, 1900. 
 
"He Giveth his Beloved Sleep." 101 
 
 "HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP" 
 
 (In memory of Rev. Dr. A. S. Bettelheim, who died and was buried 
 at sea, August 21, 1890.) 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep!'* 
 A chant arose, a dirge too deep 
 For pious psalm or rhythmic song 
 The silent, surging waves along — 
 As we wrapped him in a banner, 
 With the softest mien and manner. 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep!" 
 
 Dare grief rebel or sorrow weep, 
 
 When radiant in sweet repose 
 
 The heavens ope as eyelids close, 
 
 And lustre beams and splendors loom 
 
 O'er new-made mound and ancient tomb? 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep!" 
 'Tis joy to sow, 'tis joy to reap 
 The harvest of the golden years ; 
 The dew-drop, clear as crystal tears. 
 Descends upon the winnowed wheat — 
 And makes it fragrant, soft and sweet. 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep!" 
 And o'er him seraphs vigil keep; 
 No more pain, no more harassing, 
 Death is into spirit passing, 
 Rest is but a rarer rapture, 
 Without siege, or storm, or capture. 
 
102 "He Giveth his Beloved Sleep.' 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep!" 
 The shepherd gathers in his sheep — 
 Greener verdure, softer meadows, 
 Sunlight dancing o'er the shadows; 
 Bravely follow, He is leading — 
 Bounty flows for all your needing. 
 
 **He giveth his beloved sleep!" 
 Then slumber in the briny deep; 
 Summoned in a Voice that falters 
 Find thou peace in troubled waters, 
 Folded in a starry banner. 
 With the softest mien and manner. 
 
 August, 1900. 
 
Sonnet 103 
 
 SONNET 
 
 (In memory of Rev. Dr. Aaron Siegfried Bcttelheim, who died 
 and was buried at sea, August 21, 1890.) 
 
 The seething billows chant their requiem 
 Complainingly about thy liquid tomb, 
 Wherein thou sleepest, cut off in thy bloom, 
 While we, ashore, intone a Te Deum 
 Upon the day which Memory reveres. 
 And raise a song of thanksgiving and praise 
 To Him, Who guided thee on wondrous ways 
 Of righteousness and pow'r; Who dried our 
 
 tears 
 And made us feel, as swift the years rolled on, 
 That we were not forlorn ; that thou art here 
 Abiding with us always; ever near 
 To bless us as of old ; — that thou'rt not gone 
 Away from us, but leadest by the hand 
 Thy faltering kin, who follow His command. 
 
 August, 1901. 
 
104 Sonnet 
 
 SONNET 
 
 (Written on the 10th Anniversary of the death of Professor H. 
 Graetz, Historian of the Jews. Died September 7, 1891.) 
 
 We light the lamp and say the Kaddish prayer 
 
 For thee, illustrious dead! Nor is this all, — 
 
 To-day thy deeds we vividly recall; 
 
 The noble lore, the art, the patient care 
 
 Thou broughtest to thy task; the mighty share 
 
 Thou boldest in the glory of the race, 
 
 Whose destinies thy rev'rent hand did trace 
 
 Unfadingly upon the lum'nous page 
 
 Of History. Thy record is not blurred; 
 
 The name thou bearest is a household-word 
 
 In Judah's tents; and every unborn age 
 
 Shall laud thee more and bless thee more, o sage! 
 
 And Israel, mindful of this solemn day. 
 
 Shall light the lamp, and think of thee, and pray. 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
Hallowed Kinship. 105 
 
 HALLOWED KINSHIP 
 
 (Jahrzeit: lyar 20, 5662.) 
 
 Can I forget, my father and my friend, 
 
 How tenderly you reared me and restrained 
 
 The tumult that within me raged, — and reigned 
 
 With gentleness I failed to comprehend, 
 
 But yet with firmness, born of that sweet trait, 
 
 Which, in mine eyes alone, would make you 
 
 great : 
 The mild rebuke of love? — ^you were so nigh 
 To me, the child, and then the striving man, 
 That God Himself seemed present in the plan 
 Of that deep Kinship, subtle and so high. 
 Which made us comrades, brothers in the quest 
 For Him, to Whom we sacrificed our best. 
 You taught me what true Aspiration is; 
 How Honor scorns the pelf which lures the 
 
 strong : 
 And that the Right is holier than Wrong— 
 For nothing else I thank you more than this. 
 
 May 27, 1902, 
 
106 Gustav Gottheil. 
 
 GUSTAV GOTTHEIL 
 
 (Died April 15, 1903.) 
 
 God healed him while he slept, 
 And took His shepherd home, 
 
 And many thousand tender hands 
 Now bear him to the tomb. 
 
 His life was crowded with the deeds 
 Which crown his calm repose, 
 
 Upon his gleaming coat of arms. 
 No guilty glory glows. 
 
 Dream on, O Prince in Israel, dream, 
 
 In thy celestial home. 
 While many thousand loyal friends 
 
 Chant Kaddish at the tomb. 
 
 April 16, 1903. 
 
Elegy. 107 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 (In Memoriam Rev. Dr. Gustav Gottheil. Born at Pinne, Prussian 
 Posen, May 28, 1827; died in New York, April 15, 1903.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Master, we, who at thy feet. 
 Have learnt to love the Lord of Hosts, 
 With trembling accents we repeat, 
 (Forgetting all our vaunts and boasts,) 
 That thou wast great in work and prayer — 
 Thy monuments are everywhere. 
 
 n. 
 
 Not only now, when on the bier 
 Thou liest pale, we hold thee dear, 
 For e'er and always, in the past. 
 Our trusting hearts have held thee fast; 
 To all of us and each thou wast 
 A cherished friend — alas, now lost! 
 
 III. 
 
 And I, among the least of those, 
 
 Who brought to thee their wounds and woes, 
 
 (Whom with a firm caressing hand. 
 
 Thou knew'st to heal and reprimand,) 
 
 Feel desolate, bereft and lone, 
 
 As though thou wert my very own. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To that historic tomb where they, 
 
 Who loved thee most now weep and pray. 
 
 Thy fond disciples, too, shall make 
 
108 Elegy. 
 
 A pilgrimage for old times' sake, 
 And bending low, beside them, I 
 Shall crave an answer to my cry! 
 
 April, 1903. 
 
A Threnody. 109 
 
 A THRENODY 
 
 In Memoriam ALEXANDER KOHUT: 
 April 22, 1842— May 25, 1894. 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 
 " My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen there- 
 of " (II Kings, ch. II, 12). 
 
 I. 
 
 Imparadised — I sing of him, 
 Who dwells amidst the Seraphim; 
 Who, far removed by distant years. 
 Is visioned clearly through my tears; 
 Whose presence sets, where'er I go. 
 The spark of memory aglow; 
 Along whose star-lit path I find 
 Sustenance for soul and mind; 
 Who still remains, lest I should err. 
 Father, Friend, and Counsellor! — 
 These feeble syllables of rhyme 
 Deep in the silent tomb shall chime, 
 These tender words of mine shall stir 
 The spirit in its sepulchre; 
 And thrill the heart awakened there 
 To hear the accents of my prayer. 
 
 n. 
 
 For, imaged to my roseate view. 
 Appears the radiant being I knew: 
 So stately, tall, and strong of build. 
 In form a Greek of ancient guild ; 
 (In feature, too, by strange intent, 
 
110 A Threnody. 
 
 The Hellenist and Hebrew blent.) 
 
 The same majestic mien is there 
 
 Mirrored in the magic air; 
 
 The glancing eye, the shining face, 
 
 A very arsenal of grace; 
 
 The shapely head, the massive brow, 
 
 Transfigured by the priestly vow; 
 
 The del'cate hands, so marble white, 
 
 That spread o'er many tablets light; 
 
 The glist'ning, flowing, raven hair, 
 
 Which made his oval face so fair ; 
 
 The mighty shoulders one could trace 
 
 Saul-like o'er the populace; 
 
 The outstretched arms, like poised wings, 
 
 Brooding o'er the cosmic things; 
 
 The regal frame, all robed in white. 
 
 Like some ancestral Israelite — 
 
 By Heaven's own inscrut'ble plan 
 
 God's very counterpart in man! 
 
 III. 
 
 O man of God, o godly man. 
 Great sheik of our lone caravan! 
 O'er parched and arid wastes we plod, 
 Content to walk where thou hast trod; 
 Unswerving in the path of good. 
 We cling to thy sweet brotherhood; 
 The path no longer yields, and we 
 Are footsore in the quest of thee; 
 We miss the gladness and the voice 
 Which bade us rally and rejoice; 
 We miss the firm, elastic tread, 
 The buoyant goal to which it led; 
 
A Threnody. m 
 
 We miss the tender, trusting look, 
 
 The roadside-reading in The Book, 
 
 The manly counsel, high disdain 
 
 Of every illy-gotten gain ; 
 
 The calm persuasion, wise and meek, 
 
 Which brought unsought what we did seek; 
 
 The mystic spell that wrought such charm 
 
 And deftly kept us out of harm. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And who could match that tongue of flame, 
 Which smote unsparing every blame. 
 And then, in turn, with infinite love. 
 Could speak in accents of the dove? 
 The rich, fine cadence, soft and low, 
 Like mute appeal from hidden woe; 
 The rhythmic flow of passionate speech, 
 That wonder worked in all and each ; 
 The irresist'ble spell of sound 
 That swayed a multitude around, 
 And lifted up the contrite few 
 And taught the wayward to be true; — 
 The words of fire that wreathed the shrine 
 With incense fragrantly divine; 
 The kindling tones that clarioned loud 
 The Will of *^Him that dwelt in cloud?*' 
 
 V. 
 
 His very presence, everywhere. 
 Breathed benediction in the air; 
 His white, caressing, helpful hand 
 Wrought subtle magic, like a wand 
 That wizard fingers softly raise 
 
112 A Threnody. 
 
 To uninitiated gaze. 
 The tranquil dignity which dwelt 
 Upon his brow, one almost felt ; 
 The faith serene which filled his life 
 Met bravely every secret strife, 
 And skeptic unbelief limped on, 
 Fearful of this paragon! 
 Nor was he autocratic when, 
 In comradeship with other men, 
 He called to task with del'cate wit 
 The Higher Critics of The Writ, 
 Who with a ruthless, vandal hand. 
 Quite failing it to understand. 
 Dissect, uproot and pull apart, 
 With strangely ill-instructed art 
 The venerable Holy Book: 
 Such sacrilege he could not brook, 
 And swift his righteous anger smote 
 Both lowly men and men of note. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He was, withal, surpassing kind 
 
 To thinkers of whatever mind. 
 
 And listened eagerly to learn— 
 
 A docile pupil, in his turn. 
 
 His patience with their foibles waned 
 
 When sacred things were scoffed, profaned;- 
 
 Respecting every human creed. 
 
 He crystallized in loving deed 
 
 His own unsullied credo ; none 
 
 E'er hallowed more the Holy One! 
 
 Nor was there man, who so revered 
 
 The leaders true religion reared : 
 
A Threnody. 113 
 
 Confucius, Buddha, Moses were 
 Entombed in his heart's sepulchre. 
 The Naz'rene seer his spirit knew 
 As pupil of the gentle Jew, 
 Who first expressed the pregnant thought 
 That all else in the world was naught 
 If fellow-feeling did not dwell 
 Within the soul's strong citadel. 
 Nor was the rugged Luther less 
 Entitled to his heart's caress, 
 And Wilberforce and Channing too, 
 Were brothers to his kindred view. 
 In all them, with discerning eye. 
 And sympathy that asked not why 
 He cherished and esteemed the man — 
 Much mightier than tribe or clan. 
 Than cassock, cowl, or temple-hall. 
 Than crescent, shield and cross and all 
 — Dead symbols that endure to-day 
 To mock our fellowship of clay! — 
 Far dearer than their forms and prayers 
 And litanies that were their wares 
 Far sweeter than their borrowed psalms, 
 The telling beads with unctious palms. 
 The bowing, cringing, bending low, 
 As though th' Eternal lived below; 
 Aye, dearer to his spirit far 
 Than fane or mosque or incense-jar: 
 Were human lives that strove to teach. 
 By other means than stilted speech. 
 That deep, indwelling, lasting good 
 Is totem of our brotherhood; 
 That in us each and in us all 
 
114 A Threnody. 
 
 Reveals himself the All-in- All; 
 
 That God made tender hearts and strong 
 
 E'en heathen Hottentots among; 
 
 That character makes kinship sure, 
 
 However cultured is the boor ; 
 
 That spirits in a conclave meet, 
 
 And with their evanescent feet 
 
 Traverse the universal globe 
 
 To touch each others' wings and probe 
 
 Affinities that seem to speak 
 
 Across each tow'ring crag and peak, 
 
 O'er Pyrennes and Apennines, 
 
 Without the aid of flame-charged lines: 
 
 For e'er and always, sweet and low, 
 
 Come whisperings of kindred woe, 
 
 Strange voices sound vibrating through 
 
 The corridors of each heart true; 
 
 Celestial guests unbidden come 
 
 To talk to us of those gone home; 
 
 Immortal friends, in spirit-guise, 
 
 Look in on us with wistful eyes ; 
 
 They take us by the hand with such 
 
 Impalpably exquisite touch, 
 
 That, somehow, we begin to feel 
 
 The smarting wound within us heal. 
 
 That, somewhere, deep v/ithin the breast. 
 
 All our aching goes to rest, 
 
 And that we'll never know just why 
 
 Doubt is changed to certainty; 
 
 That fast and sure, and anchored firm, 
 
 As beneath the sod the worm, 
 
 As upon the sky the star. 
 
 As the skin above the scar. 
 
A Threnody. 115 
 
 Is God's subtle hope and trust 
 Sleeping in the cosmic dust; — 
 And that He himself shall care 
 For our kinsmen garnered there! 
 
 May 25, 1904. 
 
116 If I Had Known, Dear Master. 
 
 IF I HAD KNOWN, DEAR MASTER! 
 
 (In Memoriam: Moritz Steinschneider, died January 28, 1907.) 
 
 If I had known, dear Master, when of late 
 
 I held thy hand within my own to say 
 
 The thousand things I'd thought of on the 
 
 way, 
 But sheer forgot, for very awe, to state; — 
 If I had known the summons was so near. 
 And that thy presence never more would grace 
 The little room which was the trysting place 
 Of every scholar, booklover and seer 
 That came from North, from South, from East 
 
 and West, 
 To call himself thy pupil and be blest — 
 I fain would have besought thee to allow 
 My unclean lips to kiss the wizard hand 
 That made of learning such a wonderland. 
 And lost its matchless cunning only now. 
 
 January 28, 1907. 
 
Moritz Steinschneider. 117 
 
 MORITZ STEINSCHNEIDER 
 
 (An elegy paraphrased after Jeremiah xxxi, 15, and II Samuel, i, 19-27.) 
 
 I. 
 
 A voice is heard in Ramah 
 
 Lamenting for the dead 
 Rachel, weeping for her children 
 
 Will not be comforted. 
 
 II. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen! 
 
 O tell it not in Gath, 
 Lest Askelon, rejoicing, reap 
 
 A gleeful aftermath. 
 
 III. 
 
 For slain is Israel's beauty 
 
 On proud Gilboa's height, 
 And perished are the spears of war 
 
 That flourished in the fight. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye mountains, may upon you 
 
 No dew descend, nor rain, 
 Nor shall your fertile meadows yield 
 
 Their crop of golden grain. 
 
 V. 
 
 For there the chieftain's weapon 
 
 Is vilely cast away, 
 As though a consecrated king 
 
 Were only common clay. 
 
1 18 Moritz Steinschneider. 
 
 VI. 
 
 More strong than lions was he, 
 More swift than eagles' flight; 
 
 Aye, fair and pleasant was the life 
 Of this great Israelite. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then weep, O Israel's daughters, 
 No more shall ye be clothed 
 
 In scarlet and in golden robes, 
 As they that are betrothed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In sackcloth and in ashes, 
 For Zion thus bereaved. 
 
 Are ye appareled to bemoan 
 What ne'er can be retrieved. 
 
 IX. 
 Departed is her glory, 
 
 In thy high places slain. 
 No such anointed king shall rule 
 
 Jerusalem again. 
 
 X. 
 
 A voice is heard in Ramah 
 
 Lamenting for the dead; 
 Rachel, weeping for her children 
 
 Will not be comforted. 
 
 February 1, 1907. 
 
Esther J. Ruskay. ] \^ 
 
 SONNETS TO THE MEMORY OF 
 ESTHER J. RUSKAY 
 
 Not to lament, or dirges to intone, 
 In faltering accents, tearfully and low, 
 To tell the story of our kindred woe. 
 Are we convened in solemn unison; — 
 Nor are we come to string the broken lute. 
 To wake its slumb'ring silence with a song 
 And chant thy praise in consecrated tongue — 
 The harp hangs still there, sorrow-sealed and 
 
 mute, 
 Upon the willows waving o'er thy grave, 
 Where, peradventure, unseen hands shall sweep 
 The severed chords — and we, who vigil keep, 
 May hear the music of thy voice, and lave 
 The hallowed ground with tears, and solace seek 
 Of Him, Who loves the contrite and the meek. 
 
 n. 
 
 We meet to-day to call upon thy name. 
 With wistful eyes to contemplate and trace 
 Each feature of thy well-remembered face; 
 And as we light the faint memorial flame 
 To hear above the cadence of our prayer 
 The brush of wings across the tranquil air, 
 As though thy radiant spirit rustled there; — 
 To see thee once again, ere yet we go 
 Our devious ways, unmindful of the gloom, 
 And know that though we robed thee for the 
 tomb 
 
120 Esther J. Ruskay. 
 
 Thou livest yet, transfigured and aglow, 
 In far-off fields of fragrant asphodel, 
 Where seraphs and thy starry kindred dwell- 
 Revered and loved and mourned in Israel. 
 
 March, 1908. 
 
Joseph Mayor Asher. 121 
 
 JOSEPH MAYOR ASHER 
 
 Deep be thy sleep, brave Prophet-Priest of God! 
 Thy spirit-wars are waged, and tranquil now — 
 The laurel of our homage on thy brow — 
 Thou dreamest; whilst we whisper overawed, 
 And name thee in our hearts, and deep and low 
 Say Kaddish o'er thy cerements of snow. 
 Thine be the peace of God, great, restless heart! 
 No more shall wound thee Israel's native woe; 
 No more shall strive against thee friend or foe ; 
 Thou art our stern-eyed seer — ^the counterpart 
 Of AMOS and ELIJAH, blent in one. 
 Our kindred sense perceives thee, and we trace 
 The Saintliness of Ages on thy face. 
 Now that thy work is gloriously done. 
 
 November, 1909. 
 
122 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 To My Mother . . 
 
 ^ Fable 
 
 ''What Doest Thou, Elijah?" 
 
 The Reward of Chanty 
 
 The Rabbi and the Angel 
 
 Why the Face of Moses Shone 
 
 The Rabbi and the Cripple 
 
 Abraham and the Idolater 
 
 Queen Esther 
 
 How Esther Saved Her Peoph 
 
 Passover Hymn 
 
 By the Rivers of Babel . 
 
 "All Saints' Day" 
 
 The Ninth of Ab 
 
 I Sing of Thee, O Israel 
 
 Rosh Ha-Shanah . 
 
 Yom Kippur 
 
 Prayer for the Day of Atonement 
 
 The Death of the Old Year 
 
 Atonement . 
 
 A Sonnet of Repentance 
 
 The Hammer of the Lord 
 
 Convert Your Own Heathen 
 
 Ruin, Britannia! 
 
 Return, O Pariah! 
 
 Kaddish for Zion 
 
 Israel's Weltschmerz 
 
 Zionists' Song 
 
 The Pariah's Prayer 
 
 KishincfF 
 
 A Prayer for Kishincff 
 
 To the Christian Nation 
 
123 
 
 An Apostrophe to Christ 
 
 Sonnet 
 
 A Sonnet of Greeting 
 
 Dreyfus 
 
 To Theodore Herzl 
 
 The Vindication of Captain Dreyfus 
 
 Moritz Steinschneider 
 
 To NaphtaH Herz Imber 
 
 To Dr. Albert A. Berg . 
 
 Sonnet to a Friend . 
 
 The Jewish Emigrant's Hymn 
 
 The Higher Anthropomorphism 
 
 Caritas 
 
 The Royal Robe 
 
 From Strength to Strength 
 
 My Father's Bible . 
 
 The Song of Songs 
 
 In Darkness . 
 
 Songs of Degrees . 
 
 Does He Know Now? 
 
 Isaac Mayer Wise 
 
 David Kaufmann 
 
 "He Giveth His Beloved Sleep" 
 
 Sonnet to Heinrich Graetz 
 
 Sonnet to A. S. Bettelheim 
 
 Hallowed Kinship . 
 
 Gustav Gottheil 
 
 Elegy (Gustav Gottheil) 
 
 A Threnody : Alexander Kohut 
 
 If I Had Known, Dear Master 
 
 Moritz Steinschneider 
 
 Sonnets to the Memory of Esther J. Ruskay 
 
 Joseph Mayor Asher . • . • 
 
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