The Torah has been our consolation,
Our help in exile and sore privation.
Lost have we all we were wont to prize,
Our holy temple a ruin lies.

Laid waste is the land where our songs we sung;
Forgotten our language, our mother tongue;
Of kingdom and priesthood are we bereft,
Our faith is our only treasure left.

God in our hearts, the Law in our hands,
We have wandered sadly through many lands;
We have suffered much, yet behold we live
Through the comfort the Law alone can give.

Come, my dear brethren, come, let us look!
Quick let us ope an historical book!
See, all the tales and the chronicles old,
They tell but of robbers and bandits bold.
World-wide is the scene of our story, and still
'Tis traced with a sword-point instead of a quill;
The ink is of blood, mixed with tears of distress,
In exile, not Leipzig it passed through the press;
No gilding it shows, and in iron 'tis bound,

Where we met not with suffering and fierce oppression
For the sake of the Torah, our sole possession.

In the very beginning, a long time ago,

We held up our heads with the best, as you know;
When householders sitting at home we were,

Nor needed the strangers' meal to share.
May none have to bear at the hands of men

What we from our neighbors have borne since then.
How bitter alas! was the lot we knew

When our neighbours to our landlords grew.

And we were driven by fate unkind

Our lodgings beneath their roof to find.

How did we live then? How did we rest?

Ask not, I pray you, for silence is best;

Like cabbage heads, hither and thither that fall,

With the holy Law we traversed through all.

Two thousand years, a little thing when spoken,
Two thousand years, tormented, crushed and broken,
Seven and seventy dark generations;

Filled up with anguish and lamentations.
Their tale of sorrow did I unfold

No Simchas Torah today we'd hold.
And why should I tell it you all again?

In our bones 'tis branded with fire and pain.
We have sacrificed all. We have given our wealth,
Our homes, our honors, our land and our health.
Our lives-like Hannah her children seven-

For the sake of the Torah that came from Heaven.

And now what next? Will they let us be?

Have the nations then come at last to see

That we Jews are men like the rest, and no more Need we wander homeless as hithertofore.

Abused and slandered wherever we go!

Ah! I cannot tell you, but this I know

That the same God still lives in heaven above,

And on earth the same Law, the same Faith, that we love.

Then fear not, and weep not, but hope in the Lord And the sacred Torah, his holy word.

Lechayim, my brother, 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 again as of yore.

Be thankful and glad and the Lord extol,

Who gave us the Law on its parchment scroll.

Simchas Torah

J. L. GORDON.

FULL oft has the ark been opened

And in the sad procession,

Our Fathers bore the sacred Law
Their one most dear possession.

While unto the foe abandoned

To ravish and to spoil,

They left their rich and plenteous store,
The fruits of a life of toil.

And into the regions unfathomed
They bore the precious scroll,
To shield it or to die for it,
To pay the exile's toll.

Yet in to-day's pageant procession
Of banner and scroll and light,
The Jew clasps tight the self-same Law
He bore through oppression's night.

Rejoice then, O Israel! Thy praise
Unto thy Maker give.

No more the Torah bids thee die;
To-day it bids thee live!

To live for it, and to cherish
Each sacred memory,

Which time has woven in a crown
Of glory unto thee.

Let revelry hold its sway, then,

And the hour be given to cheer; For the cycle of reading is ended On the happiest day of the year.

And lest the mocker, derisive,

Avow you delight to be through, Lovingly wind it from end to start; Begin to read it anew.

C. DAVID MATT.

Judas Maccabeus

VICTOR of God! O thou whose lamp of Fame

Fed with the fire of immortality,

Doth swing, triumphant, 'cross the glooming sea
Of Time! Preserver of thy Country's name!
Judas, whose heart and arm were as a flame
To burn and burst the chains of slavery,
And rage about the witching upas-tree
Of Grecian glamour and of Grecian shame!
Soul of th' undying dead! Arise, and hear
The troubled cry of Israel that comes,

And quivers o'er his fathers' ancient tombs,
And perishes in night of Doubt and Fear;
While East and West voice self-shaped destinies,
Come, Great Deliverer, arise! arise!

HENRY SNOWMAN.

The Maccabean

WHETHER of Fate, or by the hand of man,

His hallowed soul glows still the ages through; Their flux the body changes, hue on hue, But, brooding Ivanese or quick American, His heart must answer to the Yaweh-clan

When thrills its call the earth or cracks the blue, His spirit leaps onto the fray anew,

As when he shamed Olympus with his ban.

Not his is it to lag in the world-war

Nor to question whether he live or die,

And though his soul and sense red strife abhor,
His task forever is to purify.

Behold the standard that of old he bore

Flash like the sun into the clouded sky.

HORACE M. KALLEN.

OUT

The Maccabean Call

of dense darkness, stress of the ages,
Flashes a star conquering night;
Visions of seers, path guide of sages,
Portent of dawn's purpled glad light.

Names one all heroes men would remember
Leaders of hosts, battling for right:-
Quenches their glory's flickering ember
Glow of that star's intenser might.

Hammer of prophet, despot defying,
Banner with God's lettered signs,
Priest and true soldier sends he aflying,
Chaff like the king's cowardly lines.

Slingshot and bowstring, buckler and lances
David of old wielded with skill-
Harpstring as sweetly toning glad dances
Woke he to echo silv'ry rill.

Judah's last lion, David's sole better,
Sword and the harp equally knew,
Psalming his faith's music and letter,
Joying light's birth song, melody new.

Judah, thou hero, song still inspiring,

Wilt thou not rout this weak day's doubt? Israel, martyr, newly aspiring,

Raise thou again Maccabee's shout.

What if barbed arrows black hatred hurling,.
Unsheaths the sword Syrians once drew,
Wave not the flag, God's sign unfurling,
Judah the Hammer's purpose still true?

Choir not the ages, boldly defying
Tyrants' and bigots' hoarse battle-cry,
Singing this one song, surely relying
Mi Kamokha Baelim Adhonay?