On each plane of high endeavor
He is foremost in the strife
Culling everlasting laurels

From the battlefields of Life.

So God's ancient, chosen people
As His Sentinel still stands
With the standard of Jehovah
In the strong, uplifted hands;
With his jewelled breastplate gleaming
On his proudly heaving chest ;
And a lamp forever burning,

On his helmet's lofty crest;
While he welcomes the down-trodden
To his hospitable shores,
And in streams of richest bounty
Blessings on his brethren pours.

Standing thus, as great exemplar

To the world, the Jew appears;
Bringing hope, as well as warning,
To Humanity's late years,

Showing how, as King, God ruleth,
When mankind would test His sway,
Yet is tender as a Father

When, as children, they obey.
Prophet, statesman, warrior, scholar,
Israel's glories shall increase,
When he claims his royal birthright;
Brother to the Prince of Peace.

IBBIE MCCOLM WILSON.

WE

Before Battle

VE have toiled, O Lord, with our blood and might
And have offered a hymn to Thee;

And in pain and rage we have spent our light,

And our nights in misery;

We have dug the trench and built the site,

That we might be near to Thee;

O Lord our God, we have spent our light
In search of Thee.

Garish culture we spurned as we spurned all things
That were not in the grace of Thee;

And we bowed our heads and our hearts to kings
Who wore crowns by their claims in Thee;
In the deep of night we have sung Thy praise,
Unperishing songs of Thee;

O Lord our God, we have spent our days
In praise of Thee.

We've preserved our flesh from the joys of lust
That we might be clean with Thee;

We have fed our souls on the dryest dust,
That we might keep true to Thee;

We have fought, and many the odds have stood,
We have conquered the world for Thee;

O Lord our God, we have spilled our blood
For love of Thee.

We have toiled, O Lord, with our blood and might, And have offered a hymn to Thee;

Yet our days You've cursed with the gloom of night,
And our nights with misery;

We have kept our faith through the bitterest strife,
Through the bitterest strife for Thee;

O Lord our God, take of our dust,

Our faith in Thee.

SAMUEL ROTH.

The Jew

(Dedicated to Benjamin F. Peixotto) IS dark face kindled in the East,

HIS

He walks our Europe like a dream,
And in his great beard gravely seem
To meet the poet and the priest;
His nation spent, his temple sacked,
A haughty exile under ban,
From pole to pole he holds intact
The ancient grandeur of the man.

Vain burnt the fires his frame to melt,

His tough will turned the rack to straw;

The granite tablets were his law,

And to the one high God he knelt!
Before his zeal fell hate and spite;

Wide grew the narrowness of marts,
Immortal, sole cosmopolite,

He gave for freedom all the arts!

Always the ages' argonaut,

The foremost sails he followed still,
Gave to the Christian thrift and skill,
And peace and trade to heathens taught.
If ran to greed his heart sometimes,
By reverend robbers wrung to pelf,
A child of genius in all climes,
He drew the muses to himself.

Of God's august historian heir,
Who made creation eloquent,
To themes occult and grand he bent
The realms of letters everywhere;
His pencil spurned, his marble crushed
When art to monks its lease resigned,
The splendor of his numbers hushed.
The rude music of mankind.

Oh! human faith in God's good grace,
Wait boldly and ye shall not fail,
The patient ages must avail—
If freedom knows no waiting place,
The Zion holy to our hosts,

This reverend world-made ruin by

The curse of shrines, and thrones, and ghostsArt, toil, and hope shall purify.

GEORGE ALFred Townsend.

The Everlasting Jew

LIFT up thy head, O Israel, gird thine armor on

anew,

There's a rainbow in the heavens, there is work for thee to do.

Hear not the jibing stranger, heed not the envious

crew,

The only real aristocrat is the everlasting Jew!

Thou hast pride of ancient lineage, canst boast of blood that's blue,

Thine ancestors were princes, e'en when this old world

was new

Ere Greece and Tyre and Babylon had disappeared from view

Thou wast still the sole aristocrat, the everlasting Jew!

Although a scattered people, e'en though thy numbers few,

Thy star is still ascending to rejuvenate anew
Thy ancient place and heritage to prove the mission

true

That the only real aristocrat is the everlasting Jew!

HENRY B. SOMMER.

Israel

SHE stands among the nations of the earth,
Unique, a figure of pathetic grace;

God's chosen daughter of the human race,
Destined to woe and grandeur from her birth.
She sees her children scattered, doomed to dearth,
And in her dusky eyes there shines the trace
Of tears, that wet her pale prophetic face,
Knowing her people's pristine power and worth.
Oh, stricken Mother, unto whom we owe
The life and light that spring from one pure fount,
Whence all our laws and inspirations flow;

Not vainly have ye shed your blood and tears, Withstanding scorn and hatred all these yearsHe guards thee still, Who spoke from Sinai's Mount! IDA GOLDSMITH MORRIS.

AH

Israel Forsaken

('Azubah)
I

H! ingrate people whom I sought to please!
Ah! cruel people, scornful, careless men,
And dark, sly women, dreaming of new ease-
Abandon me! Scowl calmly on me when
You do behold me! You who brought me wine
To drink, fierce-spiced, and pomegranates to eat,
And fat, black grapes, red apricots and fine

Wheat cakes and glossy olives sweet:
Who gave me smoothly flowing, oily phrase
And guerdon brought me of ecstatic praise:
Lo! now because I sit alone forlorn,

Throw me your bitter herbs and crumbs of scorn.