W

"Mai-Ko-Mashma-Lon"

Cui Bono?

(Monologue of a Talmudical student.)
That's the meaning of the rainstorm?
What's the story that it tells me?
On the window panes the rain-drops
Roll, a turbid stream of tears.
And the boots are worn and tearing,
And without 'tis muddy, stormy;
Winter, too, will soon be coming
And I have no wrap to warm me.
What's the meaning of the taper?
What's the story that it tells me?
The tallow downward drips and trickles,
Faintly flaring, dying slowly.
Like a taper weak and weary,
'Lone within this hut I wither,
Till some day in sullen quiet,
Dying they will bear me thither.

What's the meaning of the old clock?
What's the story that it tells me?
Its dial quaint and faded yellow,
Each weird stroke resounding heavy.
'Tis a lifeless, soulless object,
Merely striking at each hour,
Lacking spirit, lacking feeling,
Slave to another's will and power.
What's the meaning of my being?
What's the story that it tells me?
Days of youth are vegetating
Waxing old so prematurely.
Days of fast and tears a'plenty,
Bony knuckles for a pillow,
Sacrificing all life's pleasures
For a life that is to follow.

ABRAHAM RAISIN. (Translated by Henry Greenfield.)

HAR

The Jewish Soldier

JARD by the walls of Plevna, not fifty yards away, There lies a grave forsaken, scarce visible to-day; Forsaken and neglected, uncared for and unknown, No wreath is there to mark it, no monument of stone. No grass, no flowers, grow there beneath those sullen skies;

'Tis there a sleeping hero, a Jewish soldier liesA Jewish soldier fallen in Plevna's bloody fight, When Russia, all victorious, put forth her conquering might.

The world is hushed to slumber and silence reigns. around,

A silence all unbroken, no voice, no breath, no sound; But when the chimes of midnight ring from the ancient

tower,

Out of the east awakens a storm wind, strong in power. Across the land it rushes, and, stronger and more

strong,

It roars and howls and thunders in tumult wild and long,

Until the earth it cleaveth as with the trump of doom, And, sword in hand, the soldier arises from his tomb.

Upon the wall he standeth, as in the dauntless past, And from his heart sore-wounded, the blood flow's free and fast.

His soldier's blood flows freely, his heart is wounded deep,

And in a voice of thunder he calls the dead from sleep.
"Awake my warrior comrades, awake and judge aright;
Say, did I not stand bravely beside you in the fight?
Like you, did I not perish on Plevna's battle plain
For Russia's greater glory, for Russia's greater gain?"

And as his words fall silent, there wakes to life once

more

A mighty host, unnumbered as sand upon the shore; A mighty armed multitude arises at his hest,

From far and near they gather, they come from east

and west;

With marching and with clanging, with heavy, echoing tread,

Until they stand before him, an army of the dead;

And ev'ry soldier answers, with high uplifted hand, And swears: "Yea, thou hast fallen for Czar and fatherland."

And all again is silent, no voice, no breath, no sound, The mighty host has vanished and stillness reigns around;

But still the Jewish soldier stands on the fortress wall,
And soon his words, resounding, like fiery missiles fall,
"O! Russia, for thy honor did I lay down my life!
O! Russia thou hast torn me from children and from

wife!

Why dost thou now condemn them to exile and despair?

My curse, my heavy curses, to thee the winds shall

bear."

And scarcely has he uttered these curses, fraught with

pain,

When swift the storm-wind carries him to his grave again.

And at the self-same hour, and at the self-same place, The self-same actors nightly that gloomy scene retrace. The soldier's bitter curses grow deeper night by night, They deepen and they gather until they rise in might, Borne on the tempest's pinions, far o'er the land they fly,

And on Gatschina's palace forevermore they lie. ALICE LUCAS.

B'nai B'rith

ADOWN the vista of the long ago,

Like crimson flowers anod on slender stems, Or like the gleam of iridescent gems That half-concealed along the wayside glow, Good deeds and great, and impulses divine Mark man's endeavor on the paths of time.

Whene'er a noble deed is sung by Fame,
A flush of joy enkindles east and west;
Yea, half-unconsciously, all earth is blessed,
Since each life hath on every heart a claim.
Doth not the rose await the butterfly,

The brook assume the blue of summer sky?

Thus on the path of time a glowing light,
That gave its aid to weary, struggling men,
Reflected was again and yet again,

E'en a lamp between two mirrors bright;

And clearly burned that beacon-light wherewith Men learned thy life, thy love, B'nai B'rith.

For to the lonely widow's bare abode

Thou bringest comfort, thou the tear dost dry On pallid orphan cheek; the sufferer's cry Has touched thy tender heart as with a goad; The darkened chamber where the sick repose, Thy helpful hand, thy cheering presence, knows.

And e'en to realms far, far across the seas,
Where Hunger toils, yet cannot ease its want,
Where chatt'ring Cold is clad in garments scant,
And dark Oppression reigns,-for even these
Thy strong right hand has snapped the iron rod,
And 'mid fierce conflict claimed a truce of God.

Here did thy foot, on Freedom's daisied turf,
For far Roumania's child a refuge seek

From fire, from sword, from crimes we dare not speak;

Here manhood crowned the erstwhile cowering serf.
And thou didst teach him glorious liberty:
Hark! the refrain, "My country, 'tis of thee!"

Ne'er has that country summoned thee in vain;
Thy soul rose ever, ready at her call,

Poor wind-swept Galveston, 'neath ruined wall,
Found swift relief from hunger, want and pain.
No tardy charity thy offering mars—
Brothers are all beneath the Stripes and Stars.

And now the pearl of fifty-seven years

Glides on the slender golden thread of time;
The while lost voices through our converse chime,
We see loved faces through a mist of tears—

The friends who worked beside us long ago,
Who slumber where the waning grasses grow.

Their hearts conceived a glorious brotherhood
Of friendship and of love-a power that glides
From man to man, and yet fore'er abides,
The pioneers of progress they, who stood
Upon the starry mountain peaks of time,
And saw the future in a light sublime.

Their task is done; they gave our outstretched hands The silken banner and the silvery horn,

On! upward, then! A golden age is born!

A century its magic flower expands!

On life's great summits seek ye out its birth,

And with its bloom and fragrance fill the earth. MIRIAM DEL BANCO.