Haman, thy wife hath well foretold
The dark intent will fail;
Against Jehovah's chosen fold

Thou never couldst prevail.

Who comes? His costly garments wave
In many a purple fold,

Blest with the purest white; he wears
A crown of burnished gold.

It is the Jew-'tis Mordecai,
Type of his ransomed race;
For shame is double honor given,
And glory for disgrace.

Such, Israel, is thy future lot,
Purged in refining fires;

Queens shall thy nursing mothers be,
And kings thy nursing sires.

And thou, in means and mercies rich,
Loved Albion, happy land,
For Judah bend the suppliant knee,
And work with willing hand.

Oh, help thine elder brother's need,
Bid him thy blessings share,

Nor let him perish at thy gate
While thou hast bread to spare!

ANONYMOUS.

Mordecai

AKE friends with him! He is of royal line, Although he sits in rags. Not all of thine Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, Can buy him from his place within the gate, The King's gate of thy happiness, where he, Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free,

Never obeisance making, never scorn
Betraying of thy silver and new-born
Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares
The charmed secret of thy joys he bears;
Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late
And early, thwarts thy sun; for if in hate
Thou plottest for his blood, thy own death cry,
Not his, comes from the gallows cubits high.
HELEN HUNT JACKSON.

Purim

COME, quaff the brimming festal glass!
Bring forth the good old cheer!

For Esther's Feast has come at last,-
Most gladsome in the year.

And now, when hearts beat glad and free,
Come gather all about,

And tell once more how, long since, He
Did put our foe to rout.

Full oft has beauty ruled a land

And held its sceptred sway;
Full often foiled th' avenging hand,
And bade oppression stay.

But ne'er did beauty so avail,
As when fair Esther's charm
'Gainst vengeful Haman did prevail
To 'fend the Jews from harm.

So all the dire impending woe
That hovered o'er their head,
Did light upon their ruthless foe
And ruined him, instead.

And thus, throughout the ages long,
In every land and clime,

They chant an old thanksgiving song
E'er mindful of that time.

Yea, Israel's Guardian never sleeps,-
No slumber to His eye!-
But loving watch He ever keeps

Upon his flock from high.

C. DAVID MATT.

A Purim Retrospect

I

COME tell us the story again,

You told us when we were young,
Of Esther, the great Jewish queen,
And Haman-the one they hung;
And how the tables were turned,
And Mordecai came to be great,
How he won the respect of the king,
Though sprung from low estate.

II

We clustered around the broad table,
On which all the dainties were spread,
And the rays seemed as soft as moonbeams,
From the seven star lamp overhead;
And we seemed once more to be children,
Aglowing with youthful glee,

The youngest-a baby of twenty,
Perched up on his mother's knee.

III

Well, father read out the Megillah,

We knew it all, through and through,

Though it's wonderful, how in that small book, One always finds something that's new;

So we wept again where Esther

Risked her own life to see the King,

And cried "Bravo" when Haman was ordered Upon his own gallows to swing.

IV

But when we came to the hero,
(Who used to sit out by the gate,)
Led all over Shushan by Haman,-

And robed in the king's own state,We clapped our hands for wonder, How strangely things came about, And thought we could hear the thunder, That echoed the people's shout.

V

And then the ten sons of Haman,

And those that rejoiced at the news-
That ranged on the side of the wicked,
And perished instead of the Jews-
We thought how God in His wisdom
His breath to each creature doth give,
And yet how he blots out millions,
That millions of others may live.

VI

Our reading and feasting had ended,
And father looked wisely at all,

And told us the lesson extended,

That Esther's brave life did recall:

"The path of the righteous is ever

God's vigilant care and cause,

And honesty, virtue and justice,
Are heaven's immutable laws.

VII

"The lowly shall rise from their thralldom, And sit on the kingly throne,

And God, in his infinite mercy,
Will gather them for his own;
While those who sit in high places,
And mingle not justice with power,
Shall merit the wrath of th' Almighty
And perish from that dread hour.

VIII

"The outward has nothing to boast of,
Nor figure, nor color of skin,
The image of God is implanted,
Engraved on the heart within;
The gift to rule self is to each one,
To rule over many, to few;

But a single brave heart may work wonders,
If only that one heart be true."

W. S. HOWARD.

Purim, 1900

THOU poor wan phantom of a vanished joy,

Pale wandered from the East! Upon thy brow Hang once-fresh garlands, sadly withered now; Time's hand hath marred what it might not destroy, Darkened thy fame, and made thee almost dumb From cold neglect. Thy backward-gazing eyes See visions of dead happy pasts arise

To mock thee with sweet laughter. Children come And wonderingly look on one they loved,

Who brought them gifts and pleasure and a tale
That even Repetition could not stale,-

Of Love triumphant, and of Hate removed,
Now scatter ashes on thy reverend head,
Israel forgets thee, Purim! thou art dead.
ALICE D. BRAHAM.