THE RETURN

HEY come from the ends of the earth,

THEY

White with its aged snows;

From the bounding breast of the tropic tide,

Where the day-beam ever glows;

From the east where first they dwelt,

From the north and the south and the west

Where the sun puts on his robe of light,

And lays down his crown to rest.

Out of every land they come:

Where the palm triumphant grows,

Where the vine overshadows the roofs and the hills,

And the gold-orbed orange glows;

Where the olive and fig-tree thrive,

And the rich pomegranates red;

Where the citron blooms, and the apple of ill

Bows down its fragrant head;

From the lands where the gems are born —

Opal and emerald bright;

From shores where the ruddy corals grow,

And pearls with their mellow light;

Where silver and gold are dug,

And the diamond rivers roll,

And the marble white as the still moonlight
Is quarried, and jetty coal.

They come with a gladdening shout,
They come with a tear of joy —
Father and daughter, youth and maid,
Mother and blooming boy.

A thousand dwellings they leave-
Dwellings but not a home:

To them there is none but the sacred soil,

And the land whereto they come.

And the Temple again shall be built,

And filled as it was of yore;

And the burden be lift from the heart of the world,

And the nations all adore:

Prayers to the throne of heaven

Morning and eve shall rise, And unto and not of the Lamb

Shall be the sacrifice.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

XXVIII-1058

THE BANNER OF THE JEW

WAK

AKE, Israel, wake! Recall to-day
The glorious Maccabean rage,
The sire heroic, hoary-gray,

His fivefold lion-lineage

The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,
The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.

From Mizpah's mountain-ridge they saw
Jerusalem's empty streets, her shrine
Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law
With idol and with pagan sign;
Mourners in tattered black were there,
With ashes sprinkled on their hair.

Then from the stony peak there rang

A blast to ope the graves: down poured

The Maccabean clan, who sang

Their battle-anthem to the Lord.
Five heroes lead, and following, see,
Ten thousand rush to victory!

Oh for Jerusalem's trumpet now,

To blow a blast of shattering power,
To wake the sleepers high and low,

And rouse them to the urgent hour!
No hand for vengeance-but to save,
A million naked swords should wave.

Oh, deem not dead that martial fire,
Say not the mystic flame is spent!
With Moses's law and David's lyre,

Your ancient strength remains unbent.

Let but an Ezra rise anew,

To lift the Banner of the Jew!

A rag, a mock at first: erelong,

When men have bled and women wept,

To guard its precious folds from wrong,

Even they who shrunk, even they who slept,

Shall leap to bless it, and to save.

Strike! for the brave revere the brave!

EMMA LAZARUS.

THE DEAD SOLOMON

ING SOLOMON stood in the house of the Lord,
And the Genii silently wrought around,
Toiling and moiling without a word,

Building the temple without a sound.

Fear and rage were theirs, but naught
In mien or face of fear or rage;
For he had guessed their secret thought,—
They had pined in hell for many an age.

Closed were the eyes that the demons feared;
Over his breast streamed his silver beard;
Bowed was his head, as if in prayer,—
As if, through the busy silence there,
The answering voice of God he heard.

Solemn peace was on his brow,

Leaning upon his staff in prayer;
And a breath of wind would come and go,
And stir his robe, and beard of snow,

And long white hair;

But he heeded not,

Rapt afar in holy thought.

King Solomon stood in the house of the Lord, And the Genii silently wrought around,

Toiling and moiling without a word,

Building the temple without a sound.

And now the work was done,
Perfected in every part;

And the demons rejoiced at heart,
And made ready to depart,

But dared not speak to Solomon,

To tell him their task was done,

And fulfilled the desire of his heart.

So around him they stood with eyes of fire, Each cursing the king in his secret heart,Secretly cursing the silent king,

Waiting but till he should say "Depart";

Cursing the king,

Each evil thing:

But he heeded them not, nor raised his head;
For King Solomon was dead!

Then the body of the king fell down;

For a worm had gnawed his staff in twain.

He had prayed to the Lord that the house he planned
Might not be left for another hand,

Might not unfinished remain:

So praying, he had died;

But he had not prayed in vain.

So the body of the king fell down;
And howling fled the fiends amain:
Bitterly grieved, to be so deceived,
Howling afar they fled.

Idly had they borne his chain,

And done his hateful tasks, in dread

Of mystic penal pain,

And King Solomon was dead!

JOHN AYLMER DORGAN.

JONAH'S VOYAGE IN THE WHALE

From Patience,' a Poem of the Fourteenth Century

AR

SA mote in at a minster door, so mighty were its jaws,

Jonah enters by the gills, through slime and gore;

he reeled in through a gullet, that seemed to him a

road,

tumbling about, aye head over heels,

till he staggers to a place as broad as a hall; then he fixes his feet there and gropes all about,

and stands up in its belly, that stank as the devil;

in sorry plight there, 'mid grease that savored as he

his bower was arrayed, who would fain risk no ill. Then he lurks there and seeks in each nook of the nave the best sheltered spot, yet nowhere he finds

rest or recovery, but filthy mire

wherever he goes; but God is ever dear;

and he tarried at length and called to the Prince.
Then he reached a nook and held himself there,
where no foul filth encumbered him about.
He sat there as safe, save for darkness alone,
as in the boat's stern, where he had slept ere.

Thus, in the beast's bowel, he abides there alive,
three days and three nights, thinking aye on the Lord,
His might and His mercy and His measure eke;
now he knows Him in woe, who could not in weal.
And onward rolls the whale through deep wild-seas,
through many rough regions, in stubborn will;
for, though that mote in its maw was small,

that monster grew sickish at heart, I trow,

and worried the wight. And Jonah aye heard

the huge flood as it lashed the whale's back and its sides. Author Unknown.

Version of Israel Gollancz.

PEARL

[A fourteenth-century poem; author unknown; modernized by Israel Gollancz. In this poem the author laments the loss of his child, Margaret, a "pearl, fair enow for princes' pleasance," and relates the vision which he has of her in Paradise.]

EARL! fair enow for princes' pleasance,

so deftly set in gold so pure,

from orient lands, I durst avouch,—

ne'er saw I a gem its peer,

so round, so comely-shaped withal,

so small, with sides so smooth,—
where'er I judged of radiant gems,
I placed my pearl supreme.

I lost it in an arbor-alas!

It passed from me through grass to earth.
I pine, despoiled of love's dominion,—
of mine own, my spotless pearl.

Sithence how oft have I tarried there,
where it vanished,- seeking the joy
that whilom scattered all my woe,

and raised so high my bliss!
It doth but pierce my heart with pangs,
and kindle my breast with sorrow;

yet ne'er was heard so sweet a song

as the still hour let steal to me thither.

Ah me! what thoughts stole there to my mind!
To think of my fair one o'erlaid with clay! —