Devoted to the sacred law,
Thou didst unselfishly withdraw
From all publicities; and when
With one accord thy fellow-men
Chose thee their judge, thou didst refuse
All worldly service, and didst choose
To live sequestered from all care,
For God, in study and in prayer."
"Cease," cried the Rabbi in distress,
"Make not my cup of bitterness
More bitter with the shame and pain
Of praise as ignorant as vain.
My soul is sorrowful, my son,
For public duties left undone.
I mourn the quest of truth pursued
In disregard of brotherhood;
The narrow, blind, scholastic zeal
That heeded not the common weal;
The subtle selfishness and pride
In which I put the world aside
And sought an individual good
In self-complacent solitude,
Withheld my aid and stayed my hand
From truth and justice in the land,
And weakly failed to exercise
The law in which I would be wise.
"Wherefore with tears, I plead with you,
Dear friends, a nobler course pursue,
Beware the self-indulgent mood
Of unconcern for public good.
Think not in cloistered, studious ease
Wisdom to win or God to please.
For wisdom moulders in the mind
That shuts itself from human kind,
And piety, with self-content,
Becomes a barren sentiment,
The bread of life is turned to stone
For him who hoards it as his own.
O see betimes-what late I saw-
That only love fulfills the law,
In loving kindness hear and heed
The plaintive cries of human need,
Protect the weak against the strong,
Uphold the right and right the wrong.
Assuage life's miseries and pains,
Console its sorrows, cleanse its stains;
Count worthy of all toil and strife
These common interests of life
More precious than the richest store
Of secular or sacred lore-
Your mission and ambition be
God's service in humanity."
He paused, and, rapt in silent prayer,
His spirit seemed awhile elsewhere,
And at his prayer the peace was given
For which his sorrowing soul had striven;
At eventide the light had come
To guide him through the darkness home,
Then with a smile of sweet surprise
He woke and lifted up his eyes
And praised the Lord with trembling voice,
He bade his weeping friends rejoice,
And said, "Beloved, let me hear
Once more the Shepherd-psalm of cheer.".
And they repeated, soft and low,
That sweetest song that mortals know;
And then in accents calm and grave
His benison to them he gave.
"May God who comforts my sad heart
And bids me now in peace depart,
Bless, guide and keep you evermore!
Abundantly on you outpour
The riches of his truth and grace,
Show you the favor of His face,
Your minds and hearts with ardor fill
To know and do His holy will.
With heavenly wisdom make you wise
In service and self-sacrifice,
Give you rich fruits of toil and tears,
And-after long and useful years-
The blessedness of those who come
With sheaves and songs, rejoicing, home."
The Rabbi's failing strength was spent.
In silent sorrow o'er him bent
With bated breath the faithful few,
And heard him faintly say, "Adieu!
The night grows dark! the hour is late!
We now, dear friends, must separate.
A thousand-fold may God requite
Your love and care. Good-by; Good-night!
And peaceful rest till break of day!"
So Rabbi Assi passed away.
Fact, legend, parable of old?
What matters-so the truth be told-
Historic or fictitious frame?
The Rabbi's likeness is the same.
And whosoever hath an ear
To hear his counsel, let him hear!
EDWIN POND PARKER.
The Lent Jewels
A Jewish Apologue
IN schools of wisdom all the day was spent;
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts, which dwelt upon the wife
And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in
And with these words preventing, did begin:
"I, greeting ever your desired return,
Yet greet it most today; for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point, which you shall now decide.
Some years ago, a friend unto my care
Some jewels gave-rich, precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterward not come for them, nor send.
But in my keeping suffered them so long,
That now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive today,
To take those jewels, which he left, away.
What think you? Shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring? so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to see
Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee!"
"What question can be here? your own true heart Must needs advise you of the only part;
That may be claimed again which was but lent,
And should be yielded with no discontent;
Nor surely can we find in this a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long.".
"Good is the word," she answered; "may we now And evermore that it is good allow!"
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,
And there she showed him, stretched upon one bed, Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.
(Midrash Yalkut, iii, p. 165)
HE Rabbi Meir,
A black cap on his white hair,
And him before
Unfurled the great book of the Law,
Sat in the school and taught.
Many a winged thought
Flew from his lips, and brought
Fire and enlightenment
Unto the scholars bent
Diligently at their writing.
And all the while he was inditing,
His soul was near to God.
Above the dull earth that he trod.
And as the lark doth sing
High up and quivering
In the blue, on heavenward wing,
But ever its breast
Keepeth above its nest,
And singing it doth not roam
Beyond hearing of its home,
So the Rabbi, however high he soared
In his teaching, or praying, sung
Close to the ear of his Lord,
Yet ever above his home, his wife and young.
Slowly there stole the gloom
Of evening into the room,
Then he rose and shut the book
And casting about a look,
Said, with a wave
Of the hand: "God gave
The light, and hath taken away,
With the Lord begun,
With the Lord run,
With the Lord done,
Is the day."
Then this way
Homeward cheerfully he took.
In the little house, sedate,
For her husband did await
Beruriah. And for her lord
She had laid the supper on the board.
And a lamp was lighted up,
By which he might sup.
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