To linger long amid the Prophet's school,
Learning the holy law their father loved.
His sweet repast with sweet discourse was blent
Of journeying and return.-" Would thou hadst
With me, the golden morning break to light
Yon mountain summits, whose blue, waving line Scarce meets thine eyes,--where chirp of joyous birds,
And sigh of waving boughs, stirred in the soul
Warm orisons. Yet most I wished thee near
Amid the temple's pomp, when the high priest,
Clad in his robe pontifical, invoked
The God of Abraham, while from lute and harp,
Cymbal and trump and psaltery and glad breath
Of tuneful Levite and the mighty shout
Of all our people, like the swelling sea,
Loud hallelujahs burst. When next I seek
Blest Zion's glorious hill, our beauteous boys
Must bear me company. Their early prayers
Will rise as incense. Thy reluctant love
No longer must withhold them; the new toil
Will give them sweeter sleep, and touch their cheek
With brighter crimson. 'Mid their raven curls
My hand I'll lay, and dedicate them there,
E'en in those hallowed courts, to Israel's God:
Two spotless lambs, well-pleasing in His sight.
But yet, methinks, thou'rt paler grown, my love;
And the pure sapphire of thine eye looks dim,
As though 'twere washed with tears."
"One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve;
Gems of rich lustre and of countless cost
Were to my keeping trusted. Now, alas!
They are demanded. Must they be restored?
Or may I not a little longer gaze
Upon their dazzling hues?" His eye grew stern,
And on his lip there lurked a sudden curl
Of indignation: "Doth my wife propose
Such doubt? as if a master might not claim
His own again!" "Nay, Rabbi, come, behold
These priceless jewels ere I yield them back."
So to their spousal chamber with soft hand
Her lord she led. There, on a snow-white couch
Lay his two sons, pale, pale and motionless,
Like fair twin-lilies, which some grazing kid
In wantonness had cropped. "My sons! my sons!
Light of my eyes!" th'astonished father cried;
"My teachers in the law, whose guileless hearts
And prompt obedience warned me oft to be
More perfect with my God!"
Like Lebanon's rent cedar; while his breast
Heaved with such groans as when the laboring soul
Breaks from its clay companion's close embrace.
The mourning mother turned away and wept
Till the first storm of passionate grief was still;
Then, pressing to his ear her faded lip,
She sighed in tones of tremulous tenderness,
"Thou didst instruct me, Rabbi, how to yield
The summoned jewels: see, the Lord did give,
The Lord hath taken away."
And blessed be His name. E'en for thy sake, Thrice blessed be Jehovah." Long he pressed On those cold, beautiful brows his quivering lips, While from his eye the burning anguish rolled; Then, kneeling low, those chastened spirits poured Their mighty homage.
THE PRINCESS AND THE RABBI
In olden times—in ages long since flown—
There lived a Rabbi, one whose great renown
For wisdom, learning, and for many things,
Made him much sought by emperors and kings.
Yet, though his wisdom made him wondrous wise,
His face was ugly, and his crooked eyes,
That mated with his soiled and blackened skin,
Gave to his countenance a horrid grin.
One day an emperor asked him to his court,
Where "Ugly Face" was subject to the sport
Of lords and ladies, and, amid the laughter,
None mirthed it more than did the emperor's
daughter.
"Good Rabbi, tell me," were the words she said,
How wisdom dwells in such an ugly head."
The Rabbi kept his temper, though his cheek
Paled at the insult, and with voice so meek,
He asked the princess if she knew the bin
Or jar in which her father kept his wine.
"The bin I know not," quickly she replied,
"But earthen jars have all such wants supplied."
"In earthen jars!-Ha! Ha! that's very fine-
That's where the common people keep their wine;
An emperor's is worthy of a greater place;
No handsome vessel would such wine disgrace."
So said the Rabbi; the princess thought that he
Could nothing else but full in earnest be;
That one who many clever things oft spoke
Would ne'er indulge in playing paltry joke;
So to the butler she ran off in haste,
And bid him best of all the wines to place
In jars of gold; the butler quick obeyed
(A princess' word must never be gainsaid),
Took from the earthen jars the wine so old,
And poured it into those of finest gold.
When next the wine was to the princess brought,
It tasted flat and stale; 'twas then she thought
On her the Rabbi some foul trick had played,
And, finding him, she, flushed with anger, said,
"So, Rabbi, do you know the wine I poured
In golden vessels, is all spoiled and soured?"
To which the Rabbi, with a touch of pride,
And sterner accent than before, replied,
"Then have you learned a lesson, princess mine; 'Tis not the vessel's beauty makes the wine; Neither doth knowledge find a resting-place Behind a fair more than an ugly face."
HE DOETH HIS ALMS TO BE SEEN OF
MEN
A poor little girl in a tattered gown,
Wandering alone through the crowded town,
All weary and worn, on the curb sat down,
By the side of the way to rest;
Bedimmed with tears were her eyes of brown,
Her hands on her bosom pressed.
The night was approaching-the winter's chill blast
That fell on the child as it hurried past,
Congealed the tears that were falling fast
From the poor little maiden's eyes;
The blinding snow on her pale cheek cast,
Unheeded her plaintive cry.
Now hurriedly passing along the street,
She catches the sound of approaching feet;
And wearily rises, as if to entreat
Some aid from the passer-by;
But slowly and sadly resumes her seat,
Repelled by the glance of his eye.
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