Where the prayers and the praises are heard thro' the

sky.

'Tis the time when the beauty of earth is fulfilled,
And the stars all look down on the Tent that we build;
When the moon in her robing of silver attire,
Approaches in silence, the sun's crimson fire!

All the splendour of heaven, the beauties of earth,
Exult in the love that has given them birth!
The boughs of thick trees with their leaves all entwine,
Round the delicate stems of the Myrtle and Vine;
The Palm trees are clasping the Willows with joy,
A rapture that death cannot change or destroy;
Each tree that was bearing its fruit o'er the land,
Owes renewal of life, to the One mighty hand!
Its exquisite beauty enchanting our sight,
One thought has created, for taste and delight.
Choice flowers in manifold colours and scent,
Adorn the frail walls of the gorgeous built tent;
Where "showers of blessings" from promise divine,
Replete with His mandates, eternally shine!
Now twilight glides gently o'er trees, fruit and flower;
And fragrant the breath of the exquisite bower.
The lamps that were burning, are fast growing dim,
While angels have enter'd, and chant a soft hymn;
'Tis the music of heaven! their voices ascending,
In tones most celestial, with praises are blending.
The trees are all trembling with joy, and the Rose
Has awaken'd to see where the angels repose;
But they folded their wings all impervious thro' night,
And vanish'd ere dawn spread her roseate light!
ROSE EMMA COLLINS.

Succoth

WHAT offerings can we bring Thee, Lord?

Thy ruined Temple stands forlorn;

Its stones are level with the sward

Or alien altars now adorn.

And bitter desolation stills

The lowings of the stately herds, The bleatings on a hundred hills,

The shepherds' songs of joyous words. No fields of corn or luscious vines

Thy people's toiling hands engage, And from the Ghetto's dark confines They make no holy pilgrimage To bring their offerings to Thy shrine With sound of tabret and of lute; They pour a draught of bitter wine And lay before Thee Dead Sea fruit! Oh, give us back our fathers' days, The land they trod in festive glee, When harvestings were acts of praise And best ripe fruits were gifts to Thee!

A Tabernacle Thought

LOVELY grapes and apples,

And such pretty flowers,

Blooming in the Succah

That in the backyard towers.

Green leaves for the ceiling

Sift the sun and shade

To a pretty pattern

As in forest glade.

Cool retreat and dainty

For a little child,
Toddling in, by prospect

Of its joys beguiled.

Round he casts his blue eyes,

Stretches hand in haste;

Darling baby, all this

Just is to his taste.

M. M.

But soon his eyes brim over
As with sudden tears,
Ah, he learns the lesson

Of the coming years.

ISRAEL ZANGWILL.

A Succoth Hymn

FOR garnered fields and meadows cropped
And orchards plucked of peach and pear-

Lord, what Thy hand has given us,

For this we bring our grateful prayer.

To Thee we come with hearts made glad:
For wheat that is our staff and stay;
For oats and rye that caught the glint
Of sunset on a summer's day.

With face upturned in sun and rain,

And stout resolves to do our task-
O Lord, who gives to each his due,
Thy blessings for these do we ask:-

That never faltering, though our arms
Were weary and and our spirits spent;
That bravely we endured the toil

And anguish that the seasons sent;

We thank Thee, yea, for throbs of Love
That glorify each earth-born soul,

And link all pulsing hearts to Thee
In one vast, universal whole.

JOSEPH LEISER.

Simchas Torah

(The Rejoicing of the Law)

"SIMCHAS-TORAH! skip and hop On your feet till down you drop!

In your mouth a merry jest

And a burden in your breast."

So frisky and fit,

At table we sit,

(Old Song.)

We eat what we choose,
We drink and are gay.

Sing, brother Jews,
Be merry today!
Cup after cup-
Drink it all up
No need to fear.
Lift up your voice,
To-day we rejoice,
Sing brothers dear.

Alas, Jewish singing!
And alas! Jewish gladness,
What means it; O tell me,

And whence is the sadness

That weighs on my heart when I hear.

I hang down my head.

Like a child that is chidden.

And oft, ere I know it,
Uncalled for, unbidden,
Falls bitter and burning,
A tear!

Not always with sorrow
Our hopes are requited;
And often the sunshine

Has brightened our way.
We once were a nation
Both strong and united,
And yet, O my brothers,
And yet, to this day

We keep not one feast day
But still doth remind us
Of swords that lie shivered
And broken behind us.
And old tattered banners,
Now useless and furled,
Of all our dead heroes,
Our great ones who perish,
The altars forgotten,

The ruins uncherished.

And scattered abroad o'er the world

No song but contains but

Two words of rejoicing,
In which we discern not
The jesting below,
An echo of laughter,
Of false bitter laughter,
A cry half-despairing

Of shame and of woe!.

O great and happy feast-day, Simchas-Torah! High above your head thy bright star flashes To win such a feast-day, one such feast-day, Ten we spend fasting in sackcloth and ashes. MORRIS ROSENfeld.

Simchas Torah

LECHAYIM, my brethren, Lechayim, I say!
Health, peace and good fortune I wish you to-day.
To-day we have ended the Torah once more,
To-day we begin it anew as of yore.

Be thankful and glad and the Lord extol,
Who gave us the Law on its parchment scroll.