"The graveyard dark was not our mother, nay,

Nor was the grave our cradle-bed of old; 'Twas a good angel that gave birth to us,

A mother dear, with heart of tenderness.

"A mother fondled us, a loving breast Nurtured us, warm as any breast could be; A happy father also every day

Gazed in our eyes and kissed us tenderly.

"We had a home, but it has been destroyed;

Our holy things were burned by murderous bands;

Our best and dearest slain-dead bones are they; Those left were driven forth with fettered hands.

"Known is our country-oh! 'tis recognized
With ease, alas! by ceaseless, bloody news
Of baitings, beatings, burnings, riots wild,
Death and destruction dealt to wretched Jews.
"Jews, hapless Jews are we, without a friend,
A joy, or hope of happiness, alack!

Ask us no more, no more! Leave us in peace.
America to Russia drives us back—

To Russia, whence we fled; to Russia back, Because we have no money! Journeying thus, What have we left to look for or to hope?

What good is life or this dark world to us?

Something you have to weep for; you have cause To murmur and fear death; you have a home

To which to go; you left America

Of your free choice, not forced by fate to roam.

"We are forlorn and lonely like a rock;
On this ill earth no place for us is found;
Travellers are we, but no one waits for us;

Tell me, I pray you, whither we are bound.

"Let the wind storm, and let it howl with rage; Let the deep seethe and boil and roar around! We Jews are lost, however it may be;

The sea alone can quench our burning wound."

MORRIS ROSENFELD Translation from the Yiddish by Alice Stone Blackwell

116

HYMN TO THE DEITY

In the dim twilight of the leafy woods,
Where the light zephyr stirs the canopies,
And sways the foliage of dark forest trees;
On the wild waste of waters, when the floods
Lift up their voices, and in grief or glee
Still touch the heart with nature's minstrelsy-
There, even there, let the soul turn to Thee,
And thank Thee for the beauties of this earth,—
For all the glorious things to which Thou gavest
birth.

O'er the wild desert's sandy solitude,

Where the sirocco breathes its withering flame, And the lone traveller treads with wearied frame, Thou bringest his heart to Thee, Giver of Good;

There the oasis springs, leafy and green, Like a sweet fairy isle, in slumber seen, Gladdening his heart when every hope was past, And every death-fraught moment seemed his last.

Thou holdest the mighty thunder in Thy hand,
And the frail leaflet of earth's meanest flower;
The writhing waves own and obey Thy power,
And check their fury at Thy dread command.
Oh! turn our hearts to such deep piety

As all inanimate creation bears;

Let that instruct us in our daily prayers,

And teach us how to raise our thoughts to Thee; In forest, desert, ocean, everywhere,

Turn Thou the heart to Thee, O God! in prayer.

REBECCA HYNEMAN

117

BE IT SO

God supreme, to Thee I pray;
Let my lips be taught to say,
Whether good or ill may flow,
Thou art righteous! Be it so!

What Thy wisdom may dictate
Let Thy servant vindicate;
Though it may my hopes o'erflow,
Thou art righteous! Be it so!

Friends may falsify my trust,

Kindred also prove unjust,

Wound my heart and chill its glow,-
Thou art righteous! Be it so!

Warmth and comfort may decline;
Why at this should I repine?
Both to Thee, my God, I owe.
Thou art righteous! Be it so!
When by disappointment stung,
Hard it is for human tongue
Still to say, though tears may flow,
Thou art righteous! Be it so!

Yet from mercy's aid shall spring
Strength of spirit still to sing
'Mid bereavement, pain, and woe,
Thou art righteous! Be it so!

PENINA MOÏSE

118

O MY CREATOR, WHEN THY MIGHT

O my Creator, when Thy might,

The wisdom of Thy ways,

The love, which sheds on all its light,
My wondering heart surveys;

I know not, while amazed I bow,
The song I ought to raise;

My God, my Lord, my Father, Thou
Must teach me how to praise.

Where'er my raptured eyes are turned,
Thy wonders I descry;

Thy heavens, with radiant gems adorned,
Lift up Thy praise on high.

O God of strength! who taught the sun

His lofty pathway far?

Who put his robes of glory on?

Who summons every star?

Who gives the wind its course or birth?
Who pours the welcome rain?
Who opens wide the lap of earth,
And heaps the golden grain?

O God of might and majesty!
O God, Thy boundless love,
Far as the clouds stretch o'er the sky,
Its mantle spreads above.

Thy name the sunshine and the storm,
Thy name the sea-sands raise;

66

66

Give," cries aloud the meanest worm,
"Give my Creator praise!"

God made me," cries the stately tree
That with the tempest plays;

"God," cries the little seed, "made me;
Give my Creator praise!"

Man, on whose frame Thy fearful hand
Such skill could so bestow;

Man, whose high reasoning soul can stand,
And ask his God to know;