Who felt and knew that they
Were guardians safe and true,
With privilege to bear

The Treasure of the Lord.

ANNETTE Кони.

The Fast of Tebeth

O! I recall the siege which fell on me:

Lo

Within this month He struck me; He destroyed With three blows;-cut me down and left me

void;

Now He hath made me weary utterly.

He silenced on the eighth day all my throng;

(Have I not for three things a fast proclaimed?) The King bade; write the law in Greek; they

maimed,

They ploughed on me; they made their furrows long.

Upon the ninth day-wrath, disgrace, and shame!
Stripped off was my fair robe in honor worn;
For he who gave sweet words was surely torn:
Ezra the scribe-yea, he of blessed name.

The tenth day; then the seer was bidden: "Yea
Write thee within the book of vision; write
This for remembrance; now shalt thou indite
For them despised and crushed this self-same day."
Counting the months, within the tenth the woe
And wail he wakened; but the sorrow's smart-
Its onward way was branded on my heart
When one came saying: "The city is struck low."

For these things I have scattered o'er me dust;

O that a shaft had pierced mine heart that day! For such woe I would dig my grave;-but nay, I wrought rebelliously: the Lord is just.

I call Thee, Thou Who hast repentance nigh
For mine affliction; lo! my praying heed;
Hear my beseeching; my salvation speed;
Hide Thee not at my sighing, at my cry.

O moon of Tebeth! exceeding is my sum

Of pain therein, when His face changed for me. Yet, though I sinned, His goodness I shall see, Who saith: "Ye waves, but so far shall ye come.'

JOSEPH BAR SAMUEL TOB ELEM.
(Translated by Nina Davis.)

Lines for the Ninth of Ab
SHALL I sorrow, oh desolate city,

For thy beauty and glory o'erthrown;
Shall I sing the dread day of destruction,
When thy sins thou didst dearly atone-
When the Lord, from the place He had chosen,
Withdrew the strong shield of His Name,
And its treasures were spoiled by the stranger,
Its holiness given to shame-

When the shrieks of the daughters of Zion
Sad echo'd the shouts of the foe,

And thy streets, ravished City, ran crimson
With the blood of thy sons, lying low-
When the scepter departed from Judah,
From Levi his birthright was riven,
And the people of God were led captive,
Forsaken of earth and of Heaven!

Or shall I rejoice in the beauty

And glory again to be thine,

When thy youth's loving Bridegroom shall ran

som

His promise of comfort, divine

In the courts of God's temple rebuilded,
Thy priests, morn and eve, shall proclaim
"He is One!"-and the sons of the stranger
Shall answer: "And One is His Name!"

With chorus of praise shall thy daughters
Reëcho the Levites' glad song,

And thy gates night and day shall stand open
For the pilgrims that thitherward throng.
For the scepter returneth to David,

The miter to Aaron's proud line;

And neighbour shall welcome his neighbour
To the shadow of fig-tree and vine.

Like Akiba, who laughed when the foxes
Ran out from the Holiest place,
Saying: "True were the warnings of evil
And true is the promise of grace,"
My thoughts, on this day of sad memories,
Turn not back to the past in despair,
But forward in hope to the future

Where visions of glory shine fair!
When I read in the book of the prophet'
Who voiced fallen Zion's distress,
I seek not alone words of grieving,

But these rarer, that comfort and bless:
"Hear the word of the Lord, O ye nations,
In the isles afar off be it told;

Who dispersed, will again gather Israel,
And keep as a shepherd his fold!"

SOLOMON SOLIS COHEN.

Ode to Zion

(Hymn for the Fast of Ab)

ART thou not, Zion, fain

To send forth greetings from thy sacred rock Unto thy captive train,

Who greet thee as the remnants of thy flock? Take thou on every side,

East, west, and south and north, their greetings multi

plied.

Sadly he greets thee still,

The prisoner of hope who, day and night,

Sheds ceaseless tears, like dew on Hermon's hill. Would that they fell upon thy mountain's height!

Harsh is my voice, when I bewail thy woes.

But when in fancy's dream

I see thy freedom, forth its cadence flows,

Sweet as the harps, that hung by Babel's stream. My heart is sore distressed

For Bethel ever blessed,

For Peniel and each ancient, sacred place.

The holy presence there

To me is present, where

Thy Maker opes thy gates, the gates of heaven to face.

The glory of the Lord will ever be

Thy sole and perfect light;

No need hast thou then, to illumine thee,

Of sun by day, or moon and stars by night.

I would that, where God's spirit was of yore
Poured out upon thy holy ones, I might

There, too, my soul outpour.

The house of kings and throne of God wert thou, How comes it then that now

Slaves fill the throne where sat thy kings before?

Oh, who will lead me on

To seek the spots where, in far distant years, The angels in their glory dawned upon

Thy messengers and seers?

Oh, who will give me wings

That I may fly away,

And there, at rest from all my wanderings,

The ruins of my heart among thy ruins lay?

I'll bend my face unto thy soil, and hold

Thy stones as precious gold.

And when in Hebron I have stood beside

My father's tombs, then will I pass in turn
Thy plains and forest wide;

Until I stand on Gilead and discern

Mount Hor and Mount Abarim 'neath whose crest Thy luminaries twain, thy guides and beacons rest.

Thy air is life unto my soul, thy grains

Of dust are myrrh, thy streams with honey flow; Naked and barefoot, to thy ruined fanes

How gladly would I go

To where the ark was treasured, and in dim
Recesses dwelt the holy cherubim.

I rend the beauty of my locks, and cry
In bitter wrath against cruel fate
That bids thy holy Nazirites to lie

In earth contaminate.

How can I make of meat or drink

How can mine eyes enjoy

my care?

The light of day, when I see ravens tear

Thy eagle's flesh, and dogs thy lion's whelps destroy? Away, thou cup of sorrow's poisoned gall!

Scarce can my soul thy bitterness sustain,

When I Aholah unto mind recall.

I taste the venom; and when once again
Upon Aholibah I muse, thy dregs I drain.

Perfect in beauty, Zion, how in thee.
Do love and grace unite!

The souls of thy companions tenderly

Turn unto thee; thy joy was their delight,
And weeping they lament thy ruin now.
In distant exile, for thy sacred height

They long, and towards thy gates in prayer they bow.
Thy flocks are scattered o'er the barren waste,

Yet do they not forget thy sheltering fold,

Unto thy garments' fringe they cling, and haste

The branches of the palms to seize and hold.