But now resigned in faith and trust
I seek a nameless tomb;

At least beneath thy hallowed dust

Oh! give the wanderer room.

CRU

FRANCES BROwne.

The Arch of Titus

RUMBLING, age-worn, in Rome the eternal,
Stands the arch of Titus' triumph,

With its carven Jewish captives

Shouldering the holy Menorah.

And each nightfall, when the turmoil
Of the Petrine clangor ceaseth,
Seven flames the arch illumine,
Mystic glowings, burning strangely.
Then cast off their graven shackles,
Judah's sons of marble graven,
Living step they from the ruin,
Living stride they from the Jordan.
They are healed in its waters,
Till the freshness of each dawning,
Then resume their ancient labor,
Perfect marble, whole and holy.
Dust of dust the wheeling seasons
Grind that mighty archéd splendor,
Rase the Gaul and rase the Roman,
Grind away their fame and glory,

The shackled Jews alone withstand them,
Shouldering their holy Menorah.

HARRY WOLFSOHN.

(Trans. from the Hebrew by Horace M. Kallen.)

Tourist and Cicerone

OOD sir, thou didst me order

"GOOD

To lead thee through this border,

To view this very place;

But through this archway Roman

"Then, sir, do not command me,
Indeed, I would withstand thee,
The custom I'll not break'!
Alone go through the gateway,
While I around and straightway
Will meet thee," thus he spake.

"My faithful guide, know thy way
Is parallel with my way,"

I forthwith made remark;
"I hate the chariots gory,
But love Judea's glory-
The Candlestick and Ark."

Whereat he gazed in wonder
Upon my face, and under

His eyelids teardrops stole,
He touched my hand then quickly,
Half doubtfully, half meekly,
And said, "Sh'ma Yisroel!"

Of course, my tears descended, While I the greeting ended, "Adonoi Echod!"

Around the archway turning, The past within us burning"Jehovah is our God,"

LUDWIG AUGUST FRANKL. (Translated by Henry Cohen.)

Judea

I

SAW in rift of cloud a beaming light

That spread soft radiance over Judea's plain, Where mother of a race watched sunny rain Before red flashes told of stormy night. She looked afar, through misty ages vast, And saw her progeny the scorn of men, Far scattered, trod to earth to rise again, And hold distinction, though the world should last Till sun and planets fell in void of time And light was scant as when the world was born. She saw her sons surmount the stings of scorn: With sad eyes and with brow of care; sublime In aspect her breast throbbing with new life; Beheld universal motherhood's young Cease their dire bickerings, she stood among The children of the earth unstirred by strife; Saw creeds lose force in the long ages' span, One God, one hope, and peace o'erspread the earth. Regenerative man's new heart at bright, The soul's broad scope, and brotherhood of man.

CHARLES M. WALLINGTON.

The Tombs of the Fathers

IN Babylon they sat and wept

Down by the river's willowy side,

And when the breeze their harp-strings swept,
The strings of breaking hearts replied:
A deeper sorrow now they hide;

No Cyrus comes to set them free

From ages of captivity.

All lands are Babylons to them,

Exiles and fugitives they roam:

What is their own Jerusalem?

The place where they are least at home!

Yet hither from all climes they come, And pay their gold for leave to shed Tears o'er the generations fled.

Around, the eternal mountains stand,
With Hinnom's darkling vale between;
Old Jordan wanders through the land,
Blue Carmel's seaward crest is seen;
And Lebanon, yet sternly green,
Throws, when the evening sun declines,
Its cedar shades in lengthening lines.

But, ah! forever vanished hence
The Temple of the living God,
Once Zion's glory and defence-

Now mourn beneath the oppressor's rod
The fields where faithful Abraham trod;
Where Isaac walked by twilight gleam,
And heaven came down on Jacob's dream.

Forever mingled with this soil

Those armies of the Lord of Hosts, That conquer'd Canaan, shared the spoil, Quelled Moab's pride, stormed Midian's posts, Spread paleness through Philistia's coasts, And taught the foes, whose idols fell, "There is a God in Israel."

Now David's tabernacle gone,

What mighty builder shall restore?

The golden throne of Solomon,

And ivory palace, are no more:

The Psalmist's song, the Preacher's lore,

Of all they did, alone remain

Unperished trophies of their reign.

Holy and beautiful, of old

Was Zion 'midst her princely bowers; Besiegers trembled to behold.

Bulwarks that set at nought their powers; Swept from the earth are all her towers; Nor is there so is she bereft

One stone upon another left.

7

The very site whereon she stood,

In vain the foot, the eye would trace; Vengeance, for saints' and martyrs' blood, Her wails did utterly efface;

Dungeons and dens usurp their place; The Cross and Crescent shine afar,

But where is Jacob's natal star?

Still inexterminable-still

Devoted to their mother-land,

Her offspring haunt the temple hill,
Amidst her desecration stand,

And bite the lip, and clench the hand;

Today in that lorn vale they weep,

Where patriarchs, kings, and prophets sleep.

*

And by the Gentiles in their pride
Jerusalem is trodden down;
"How long? forever wilt thou hide,
Thy face, O Lord! forever frown?
Israel was once thy glorious crown,
In sight of all the heathen worn;
Now from thy brow indignant torn.

"Zion, forsaken and forgot,

Hath felt thy stroke, and owns it just;
O God, our God! reject her not,

Whose sons take pleasure in her dust;
How is the fine gold dimmed with rust!

The city, throned in gorgeous state,

How doth she now sit desolate!"

JAMES MONTGOMERY.