In the Lord hope, and pleading There in the land of our sires We, too, will the sword don, With joy we'll our land till, Her clods melt with caresses, With old wine our presses. On Moriah's high mountain, 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 O And the strength of the cedars was shattered, And their limbs on the billows were scattered,— And the seeds of the trees were taken And the foe his proud branches entwining And mocked were the once mighty cedars, HENRY SCHNITTKIND. O Sweet Anemones! SWEET anemones on Sharon's plain, 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, I, too, would perish here, where he has died, 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,- 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, Though the din of strange cities resound In our ears, forget we can never Or David's lyre, that ever 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 Happy are they that sow Thy seed and reap of their sowing! The exile's sorrow, not knowing The infinite heart-ache and pain. From the land of our sojourning With a fever or fretful yearning Land of the cedar and palm, Over fragrant fields and fertile, EUGENE KOHN. The Awakening of Israel JUST the sea plead in vain that the river And the earth beg the rain-clouds to give her Swing inward, Oh! gates of the future, For the soul of Israel is waking And rising from slumber at last. The black clouds of night are retreating, And calling her sons to the fray. From the dust where his proud tyrants found him 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 Then must our song on faith's own pinions soar. Yea, sing Redemption's sun new-risen in the East, Back from the ample heaven's azure dome; 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 culture scoffed at all the time. |