ΧΙ

But now, while the scapegoats leave our flock
And the rest sit silent and count the clock,
Since forced to muse the appointed time
On these precious facts and truths sublime,-
Let us fitly employ it, under our breath,
In saying Ben Ezra's Song of Death.

XII

For Rabbi Ben Ezra, the night he died,
Called sons and sons' sons to his side,

And spoke, "This world has been harsh and strange;
Something is wrong: there needeth a change.
But what, or where? at the last or first?

In one point only we sin, at worst.

XIII

"The Lord will have mercy on Jacob yet,
And again in his border see Israel set.
When Judah beholds Jerusalem,

The stranger-seed shall be joined to them:
To Jacob's House shall the Gentiles cleave.
So the Prophet saith and his sons believe.

XIV

"Ay, the children of the chosen race
Shall carry and bring them to their place:
In the land of the Lord shall lead the same,
Bondsmen and handmaids. Who shall blame,
When the slaves enslave, the oppressed ones o'er
The oppressor triumph for evermore?

XV

"God spoke, and gave us the word to keep:
Bade never fold the hands nor sleep
'Mid a faithless world,-at watch and ward,
Till Christ at the end relieve our guard.
By his servant Moses the watch was set:
Tho' near upon cock-crow, we keep it yet.

XVI

"Thou! if thou wast he, who at mid-watch came,
By the starlight, naming a dubious name!
And if, too heavy with sleep-too rash
With fear-O thou, if that martyr-gash
Fell on thee coming to take thine own,

And we gave the Cross, when we owed the Throne

XVII

"Thou art the Judge. We are bruised thus. But, the Judgment over, join sides with us! Thine, too, is the cause! and not more thine

Than ours, is the work of these dogs and swine, Whose life laughs through and spits at their creed! Who maintain thee in word, and defy thee in deed!

XVIII

"We withstood Christ then? Be mindful how
At least we withstand Barabbas now!

Was our outrage sore? But the worst we spared,
To have called these-Christians, had we dared!
Let defiance to them pay mistrust of thee,
And Rome make amends for Calvary!

XIX

"By the torture, prolonged from age to age,
By the infamy, Israel's heritage,

By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace,
By the badge of shame, by the felon's place,
By the branding-tool, the bloody whip,
And the summons to Christian fellowship,—

XX

"We boast our proof that at least the Jew

Would wrest Christ's name from the Devil's crew.

Thy face took never so deep a shade

But we fought them in it, God our aid!

A trophy to bear, as we march, thy band,
South, East, and on to the Pleasant Land!"

ROBERT BROWNING.

(Pope Gregory XVI abolished this bad business of the Sermon.-R. B.)

The Guardian of the Red Disk
(Spoken by a citizen of Malta-1300)

A CURIOUS title held in high repute,

One among many honors, thickly strewn
On my Lord Bishop's head, his grace of Malta.
Nobly he bears them all,-with tact, skill, zeal,
Fulfils each special office, vast or slight,

Nor slurs the least minutia,-therewithal
Wears such a stately aspect of command,
Broad-cheeked, broad-chested, reverend, sanctified,
Haloed with white about the tonsure's rim,
With dropped lids o'er the piercing Spanish eyes
(Lynx-keen, I warrant, to spy out heresy);
Tall, massive form, o'ertowering all in presence,
Or ere they kneel to kiss the large white hand.
His looks sustain his deeds,-the perfect prelate,
Whose void chair shall be taken, but not filled.

You know not, who are foreign to the isle,
Haply, what this Red Disk may be, he guards.
'Tis the bright blotch, big as the Royal seal,
Branded beneath the beard of every Jew.
These vermin so infest the isle, so slide
Into all byways, highways that may lead
Direct or roundabout to wealth or power,
Some plain, plump mark was needed, to protect
From degrading contact Christian folk.

The evil had grown monstrous: certain Jews
Wore such a haughty air, had so refined,
With super-subtile arts, strict, monkish lives,
And studious habit, the coarse Hebrew type,

One might have elbowed in the public mart
Iscariot, nor suspected one's soul-peril.

Christ's blood! it sets my flesh a-creep to think!
We may breathe freely now, not fearing taint,
Praised be our good Lord Bishop! He keeps count
Of every Jew, and prints on cheek or chin
The scarlet stamp of separateness, of shame,

No beard, blue-black, grizzled or Judas-colored,

May hide that damning little wafer-flame.

When one appears therewith, the urchins know

Good sport's at hand; they fling their stones and mud, Sure of their game. But most the wisdom shows Upon the unbelievers' selves; they learn

Their proper rank; crouch, cringe, and hide,-lay, by
Their insolence of self-esteem; no more

Flaunt forth in rich attire, but in dull weeds,
Slovenly donned, would slink past unobserved;
Bow servile necks and crook obsequious knees,
Chin sunk in hollow chest, eyes fixed on earth
Or blinking sidewise, but to apprehend
Whether or not the hated spot be spied.
I warrant my Lord Bishop has full hands,
Guarding the Red Disk-lest one rogue escape!

EMMA LAZARUS.

Rabbi Ben Ezra

ROW old along with me!.

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made:

Our times are in His hand

Who saith: "A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be

The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,

The new wine's foaming flow,
The Master's lips aglow!

Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel?

But I need, now as then,

Thee, God, who mouldest men;

And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I-to the wheel of life

With shapes and colors rife,

Bound dizzily-mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst.

So, take and use Thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the

same!

ROBERT BROWNING.

The Angel

I

DREAMT I saw an angel in the sky,

Her face was calm and fair up there on high; She smiled at me a strange and lovely smile That had in it no thought of earthly guile. She looked so fair, so strange and wondrous pure, That 'twas an angel, I was passing sure; She spoke her voice was music in the air; So sweet it was, it matched her person fair. She asked me, "Is there aught that I can do?" I humbly answered, "Make me fair as you." She smiled again, that strange unearthly smile, That made all mundane things seem crude and vile"Thou art not ready yet," she seemed to say

And with a sigh, she floated far away.

DOROTHY S. SILVERMAN.