In the Lord hope, and pleading
His counsel implore,
Your band He'll be leading,
To Canaan's green shore!

There in the land of our sires
We never shall fear
The lash which hatred inspires
In evil men here.

We, too, will the sword don,
And the foe bravely breast,
Up, brethren! and lead on
To our land in the East!

With joy we'll our land till,

Her clods melt with caresses,
With plenty our stores fill,

With old wine our presses.
We'll be gleeful and care-free,
Our souls within will rejoice,
Up, brethren! why pause ye?
On to Jerusalem, our choice!

On Moriah's high mountain,
We'll our banner outspread,
We'll drink from God's fountain,
Our ranks He will head!
From the City's high tower

The Lord's standard will wave,

Brethren, up! summon power,

March to Zion! Ye brave!

NAPHTALI HERZ IMBER.

(Translated by Rebecca A. Altman.)

The Cedars of Lebanon

BUT the waves of the fury of nations

Swept down on the trees of the vale,

Like rolling and wild inundations
Lashed on by the blasts of the gale.

O

And the strength of the cedars was shattered,
Their frames into shreds were cleft,

And their limbs on the billows were scattered,—
Yet the roots in the mountain were left.

And the seeds of the trees were taken
And lodged in the land of their foes,
And there untended, forsaken,
New cedars arose.

And the foe his proud branches entwining
Above them, shut off from their view
The sun that upon them was shining,
And robbed them of rain and of dew.

And mocked were the once mighty cedars,
Their name a disgrace was become,
For they had not, they had not the leaders
To bring them home.

HENRY SCHNITTKIND.

O Sweet Anemones!

SWEET anemones on Sharon's plain,
Light dancing seraphim of sun and rain,

Was he not one of us, was he not ours?

And yet he saved not us, O crimson flowers!

As stars that bloom in heaven, full-bloom and still,
As native stags that leap from hill to hill,
As you, dear blossom-stars, on native plains,
So planted here, with God, our home remains.

I, too, would perish here, where he has died,
But felled by horse and spear, not crucified;
I, man of peace, would pour, O Rock of God,
My freedom or my blood on Zion's sod.

When pagans sweep thy fields with withering blast, My heart is sanctified to death at last;

Its taste is honey-sweet within my mouth,

For we that drink with God can dread no drouth.

O sweet anemones on Sharon's plain,

A spring shall come for us, to bloom again,-
To God a day, to us a thousand years,-

Who still remembers, lives, refreshed with tears.

Zion

JESSIE E. SAMPTER.

LAND of the cedar and palm,

Land of the olive and myrtle,

Breathing of Gilead's balm

Over fragrant fields and fertile,
From the sunset shore of the sea
Greeting of peace to thee!

Though the din of strange cities resound

In our ears, forget we can never
Those piercing, lingering sounds

Or David's lyre, that ever
To Zion's Redeemer upraise
Their pean of deathless praise.

And we that long for that sunny field,

The abode of our youth, where God's spirit

First to mortals revealed

Those truths that we still inherit,

Field fertile with fruitage of glory
And haunted by memories hoary.

Happy are they that sow

Thy seed and reap of their sowing!
Happy! they never shall know

The exile's sorrow, not knowing

The infinite heart-ache and pain.
Of the toilers that toil in vain.

From the land of our sojourning
Zion, to thee, nor burn

With a fever or fretful yearning
In the patience of hope we toil
Again to possess thy soil.

Land of the cedar and palm,
Land of the olive and myrtle,
Breathing Gilead's balm

Over fragrant fields and fertile,
From the sunset shore of the sea
In God's time we shall come to thee.

EUGENE KOHN.

The Awakening of Israel

JUST the sea plead in vain that the river
May return to its mother for rest

And the earth beg the rain-clouds to give her
Of dews she has drawn from her breast?

Swing inward, Oh! gates of the future,
Swing outward, ye doors of the past,

For the soul of Israel is waking

And rising from slumber at last.

The black clouds of night are retreating,
The white peaks have signaled the day;
And freedom her long roll is beating

And calling her sons to the fray.

From the dust where his proud tyrants found him
Unhonored, and scorned and betrayed,
He shall rise with the sunlight around him
And rule in the realm he has made.

ANONYMOUS.

Sing Unto God a New Song

SING unto God a new song, sing no more

These melodies of melancholic strain That mourn the vanished glory that did reign O'er Zion in the golden days of yore. Wherefore forever weep, fore'er deplore

Our loss? Vain are our tears, our prayer is vain
Would we our ancient heritage regain,

Then must our song on faith's own pinions soar.
Sing then to God a joyous song,

Yea, sing Redemption's sun new-risen in the East,
A song of triumph till the echoes ring

Back from the ample heaven's azure dome;
For yet shall we, from evil's chains released,

Zion, to thee return, our hallowed home.

EUGENE KOHN.

In Exile

GO, with the wand'rer's staff in hand,

Without a home, without a land,

Without to-morrow, or to-day,

Ne'er tolerated, e'er in flight

Not found by day where lodged by night.

Forever woe, woe, woe,

Forever go, go, go,

Forever drive, drive, drive,

The time we barely keep alive.

Our greatness lieth in the dust;
Our holy life-a life unjust;
Our glorious name-a danger great;
Our proud descent-a cause for hate;
Our genius-nothing but a crime;

Our culture

scoffed at all the time.