I seem to hear across thy sloping hills.
Bright visions of the glory thrill me yet,
When in thy prophet's words in bridal robe
Thou wast betrothed unto Israel's God;
And now-
The rabbi faltered as he thought,
Then sighing fell into a restless sleep.

Strange fancies came to Huna as he slept.
Again he trod the Temple's sacred courts,
But there no altar dripped with streaming gore;
No groans of sacrificial sheep were heard,
No swelling chant, no pomp of liturgy,
No loudly spoken prayer, no mumbling lips,
No smiting of the breast, no postures vain;
A reverent throng with every impulse bent
To worship God in simple brotherhood.
They had, indeed, their holy litanies,
Which not in book or scroll alone were writ;
An open hand, a humble heart and mind,
An overflowing fount of love and truth,
With aspirations for the beautiful,

The true, the good, the pure.

The rabbi wakes.

Dead sounds of tumult rouse him from his sleep,
A sprawling band of Roman soldiery,

With cries of triumph, track him to the spot.
His helpless form the savage spears soon pierced,
And with "Shema Yisroel!" Huna dies.

Upon his face there rests a placid smile,

As if he trod the New Jerusalem.

R

ABRAM S. ISAACS.

Rabbi Ben Hissar

ABBI BEN HISSAR rode one day
Beyond the city gates. His way

Lay toward a spot where his own hand
Had buried deep within the sand

A treasure vast of gems and gold
He dared not trust to man to hold.

But riding in the falling light,
A pallid figure met his sight—
An awful shape-he knew full well
'Twas the great Angel Azrael.
The dreadful presence froze his breath;
He waited tremblingly for death.

"Fear not," the Angel said, "I bear
A message. Rabbi Ben-Hissar,
One thing the Lord hath asked of thee
To prove thy love and loyalty.
Therefore now I am come to bring
Thy rarest jewel to thy King."

Rabbi Ben-Hissar bowed his head,
"All that I have is his!" he said.
The angel vanished. All that day
He rode upon his lonely way
Wondering much what precious stone
God would have chosen for his own.
But when he reached the spot he found
No other hand had touched the ground.

Rabbi Ben-Hissar looked and sighed “It was a dream!" he sadly cried. "I thought that God would deign to take Of my poor store for his dear sake. But 'twas a dream! My brightest gem Would have no luster meet for him!"

Slowly he turned and took his way Back to the vale where the city lay. The path was long, but when he came Unto the street which bore his name: He saw his house stand dark and drear, No voice of welcome, none of cheer.

He entered and saw what the Lord had done.
Lo! Death had stricken his only son!
Clay he lay, in the darkened hall,

On the stolid bier, with the funeral pall.

The pale death-angel Azrael

Had chosen a jewel that pleased him well.
Rabbi Ben-Hissar bent his head.

"I thank thee, Lord," was all he said.

ANONYMOUS.

The Messenger

RABBI BEN JOSEF, old and blind,

Pressed by the crowd before, behind,
Passed through the market place one day,
Seeking with weary feet his way.
The city's traffic loud confused
His senses, to retirement used;

The voice of them that bought and sold,
With clink of silver piece and gold.

"Jehovah," cried he, jostled sore,
Fearing to fall and rise no more,
"Thine angel send to guide my feet,
And part the ways where danger meet."
Just then a beggar, as he passed,
A glance of pity on him cast,
And, seeing so his bitter need,

Stretched forth his hand his steps to lead.

"Not so," Ben Josef cried, "I wait
A guide sent from Jehovah's gate."
The beggar left, thus rudely spurned
Where gratitude he should have earned.
As day wore on the hubbub rose,
Louder and harsher to its close,
The old man, weary, sought in vain
An exit from the crowd to gain.

Jostled at every turn his feet
Stumbled upon the ill-paved street;
Once more he cried, "Jehovah, where
The answer to thy servant's prayer?
No angel, swift-winged, from thy throne,
Has hither for the helping flown."
Then came a whisper, clear and low,
"My messenger thou didst not know.

"For in a beggar's humble guise
His outstretched hand thou didst despise,
Nor cared beneath his rags to find
The heart that made his action kind.
See now that thou the lesson learn,
Lest he whose face thou canst not see.
Should prove a messenger from Me."

O. B. MERRILL.

The Forgotten Rabbi

("His memory for a blessing!")

RABBI BEN SHALOM'S wisdom none but his

scholars know,

(High let his spirit journey, e'en as his flesh lies low!)

He, ere he spake the "Shema," prayed that his fame might cease:

"How shall I give you blessing if you begrudge me peace?"

Rabbi Ben Shalom's teaching clings to his scholars still,

Oft to his school came, fasting, those who had dreamed of ill:

God in such dreams had spoken-how could they answer best?

"Laugh at the fear," said Rabbi. "God has a right to jest!"

Rabbi Ben Shalom's kindred long in his ear deplored Alms they had spent to nourish one with a secret hoard;

Who of their daily table-robber of God!—had taste: "Have I not heard," said Rabbi, "God has enough to waste?"

Rabbi Ben Shalom, silent, sat with a dead man's son. "I, at his grave, O Rabbi, knew what my sins had

"Cherish his seed," said Rabbi, "Strive to be great instead!"

Rabbi Ben Shalom's coming mirth unto mirth could bring

Fill him the cup, he'd drain it; strike on the harp, he'd sing!

Blind seemed his joy to many, when on his brows death sat

Only the few knew better; knew he rejoiced-in that!

Thus have Ben Shalom's scholars dug him a lowly bed

(How can the soul and body ever a like path tread?) Thus when in Shool they slight him, say that "his fame should cease,"

Whoso gainsays their folly grudges his master peace! G. M. H.

THE

The Two Rabbins

'HE Rabbi Nathan, twoscore years and ten, Walked blameless through the evil world, and then,

Just as the almond blossomed in his hair,
Met a temptation all too strong to bear,