The merry birds prolong the strain,

Their song

with every spring renew'd;

And balmy air and falling rain,

Each softly whispers, "God is good."

I hear it in the rushing breeze;
The hills that have for ages stood,
The echoing sky, and roaring seas,
All swell the chorus, "God is good."

Yes, God is good, all Nature says,

By God's own hand with speech endued; And man, in louder notes of praise, Should sing for joy that "God is good."

JOHN HAMPDEN GURNEY

151

THEY TELL ME

They tell me, "Give thy nation up;
The ancient graves resign!
Give us thy soul-then plenty, wealth,
And greatness shall be thine."

They tell me: "Think not to rebuild
The City, proud and tall,

Of whose old splendor there is left
Only a crumbling wall.

"Dream not thy nation to arouse

Out of its slumber deep;
Behold, it has so many years

Lain in a marmot's sleep!"

False prophets, hush! Fie, charlatans!
I swerve not from the goal.
I will not give my honor up,-
I will not sell my soul..

The path my fathers trod through life
I follow, straight and clear;

Should Death demand me, I will mount
The scaffold without fear.

My God, my race, I will not change
For gold or jewels' fires.

More than a stranger's treasure-house

A grave among my sires.

EZEKIEL LEAVITT

Translation from the Hebrew by Alice Stone Blackwell

152

HEBREW CRADLE SONG

Night has on the earth descended,

All around is silence deep.
Sleep, my darling, I am with thee;

Sleep a calm and peaceful sleep.

I no lullabies shall sing thee;
Songs are at an end to-night;

Sleep in peace, oh, sleep on sweetly,
Long as sleep thou canst, my light.
In our native fields aforetime,

Wondrous songs we used to sing,
Improvising them in gardens

Turning green with early spring.

Where grew daffodils and myrtles, Stately palms upreared their heights, Cypress trees spread wide their branches, Splendid roses blossomed bright.

But those notes are hushed and silenced;
Ruined now our Zion lies;

Mourning sounds instead of singing;
Yea, for songs we hear but sighs.

All thou needs must know, my darling,
Of thy nation's piteous plight,
Thou wilt learn and weep for sorrow,
As thy mother weeps to-night.

But why now in vain disturb thee?
Let thy tranquil slumber last,
Until over thee, my dearest,

The dark day of rain hath passed!

To the school, my son, I'll lead thee
By the hand; there thou shalt learn
All our Bible and our knowledge.

Wondrous pearls thou wilt discern

Pearls of wisdom in our Talmud,

Gems our sages' lore affords;

Thou shalt taste of prayer's first sweetness
And the charm of God's great words.

Ne'er forget thou art a Hebrew !
Little son, remember well,
Even to the grave, the stories

That thy mother used to tell!

EZEKIEL LEAVITT

Translation from the Russian by Alice Stone Blackwell

153

A PSALM OF LIFE

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID
TO THE PSALMIST

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"

For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment and not sorrow
Is our destined end or way,
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us further than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting;

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present,—
Heart within, and God o'erhead.

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time!

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW