Thy lips are sweetness, and thy words
Åre pleasantness each one;
Thy very raiment breatheth forth
The breath of Lebanon.
A garden is my sister-bride,
A paradise shut in;
A guardian spring, a fountain sealed,
With water pure within.
Thine are the pleasant fruits and flowers,
Beneath, around, above;
Spikenard and balm, and myrrh and spice,
A paradise of love.
Thine are the springs, which freshly o'er
A thousand gardens run,
The well of living waters Thou,
And streams from Lebanon.
Awake, O north wind; come, thou south,
Upon my garden blow!
So shall the happy fragrance out
From all its spices flow.
Then forth through all His Paradise,
Let my beloved rove,
To breathe the gladness of its air
And eat His fruits of love.
HAST thou heard the voice of my Belov'd?
Alack! is he silent still?
Didst thou smell the perfume of his locks
As he skipped upon the hill?
Did he say: "Go down and greet my Bride
Amid the tents of Kedar?
In the house whose rafters are of fir,
Whose casements are of cedar.
Is she dreaming at the pleasant feast
All laved in spice and roses?
With cool ointment on her throat and hands
From secret garden-closes.
O, why must I dwell far from her
And from her running fountains?
I am lonely on the barren heights,
Yet God calls from the mountains.
Behold! if ye hear my lover cry
As Ammi-nadib's lances,
Then say: "She sleeps but her heart waketh,
She neither sings nor dances."
As fish-pools of Heshbon weep her eyes,
As willows trail her tresses,
Her neck is like a drooping tower,
She yearns for thy caresses.
Come down from the hills and harp to her,
Come down and stay her sorrow:
Is not the winter over and past
And lilies bloom to-morrow?
Yet she only saith: "He bideth long,
Ah, when is he returning?"
REGINA MIRIAM BLOCH.
The Rose of Sharon
IN his chamber sat the Rabbi
Poring o'er the book of learning,
When a knight with clanking armor
Sudden stood upon the threshold.
Gleamed the cross upon his shoulder,
And his countenance was warlike.
For the tall commanding figure
Was from Palestine returning.
As he gazed at the Crusader
Ceased the rabbi's heart its beating,
But-upon his lips warm praises
And a sturdy hand did clasp him.
Spoke the Knight, "We both are striving
Toward the same end, good and holy;
My strong arm I must confide in,
But thy help's thy stronger spirit.
"Seekers of the truth, O Rabbi,
Comrades are we with one purpose.
Pledge and promise your friendship,
Take this rose from soil of Zion."
Said the Rabbi: "Dost thou know not
Wondrous miracle that clusters
In the withered Rose of Sharon,
How it blossoms in the love-glance?
"Ah, how like the rose, my people!
Parched and drooping in its exile;
But when love-gleam rests upon it,
Dwelling safe in happy freedom,
"Swells its soul, then, in sweet rapture,
Fragrant too, its spirit blossoms
While it wakens to the new life
And forgets its olden sorrows."
KING SOLOMON, before his palace gate
At evening, on the pavement tessellate
Was walking with a stranger from the East,
Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast,
The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man,
And Rajah of the realms of Hindostan.
And as they walked the guest became aware
Of a white figure in the twilight air,
Gazing intent, as one who with surprise
His form and features seemed to recognize;
And in a whisper to the King he said:
"What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead,
Is watching me, as if he sought to trace
In the dim light the features of my face?"
The King looked, and replied: "I know him well;
It is the Angel men called Azrael.
'Tis the Death Angel; what hast thou to fear?"
And the guest answered: "Lest he should come near,
And speak to me, and take away my breath!
Save me from Azrael, save me from death!
O king, thou hast dominion o'er the wind,
Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind."
The King gazed upward at the cloudless sky,
Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high,
And lo! the signet-ring of chrysoprase
On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze
With hidden fire, and rushing from the west
There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest
And lifted him from earth, and on they passed,
His shining garments streaming in the blast,
A silken banner o'er the walls upreared,
A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared.
Then said the Angel, smiling: "If this man
Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan,
Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer;
I was upon my way to seek him there."
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
GOD got me ere His works began,
The first in all creation's plan.
From everlasting was my birth,
Yea, from the first, before the earth.
Ere there were deeps I was begot
When water-laden springs were not.
I was brought forth before, as yet
The hills and mountains had been set;
Ere He the land and wastes had made,
Ere He the world's first dust had laid.
When He prepared the heavens new,
And on the face a circle drew
Of the vast deep, there I was, too:
When skies above He firm did fraine;
When the deep's fountains strong became;
When to the sea its bounds He set,
So that its borders ne'er should get
Beyond its borders, and when He
Marked out what should earth's bases be;
I as His foster-child did stay
With Him, delighting Him each day,
And in His presence e'er did play,
Exulting at His world in sight;
The sons of men were my delight.
Now children, hearken unto me;
Who keep my ways they blest shall be.
Instruction hear ye and be wise,
Yea, no instruction e'er despise.
Happy the man that heeds my say,
That watches at my gates each day,
That at my door-posts waits alway.
For he that findeth me finds Life;
He'll from the Lord get favour rife;
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