| |
| ASK, is it well, O thou consumed of fire, | |
| With those that mourn for thee, | |
| That yearn to tread thy courts, that sore desire | |
| Thy sanctuary; | |
| |
| That, panting for thy land’s sweet dust, are grieved, | 5 |
| And sorrow in their souls, | |
| And by the flames of wasting fire bereaved, | |
| Mourn for thy scrolls; | |
| |
| That grope in shadow of unbroken night, | |
| Waiting the day to see | 10 |
| Which o’er them yet shall cast a radiance bright, | |
| And over thee? | |
| |
| Ask of the welfare of the man of woe, | |
| With breaking heart, in vain | |
| Lamenting ever for thine overthrow, | 15 |
| And for thy pain; | |
| |
| Of him that crieth as the jackals cry, | |
| As owls their moaning make, | |
| Proclaiming bitter wailing far and nigh; | |
| Yea, for Thy sake. | 20 |
| |
| And thou revealed amid a heavenly fire, | |
| By earthly fire consumed, | |
| Say how the foe unscorched escaped the pyre | |
| Thy flames illumed! | |
| |
| How long shalt thou that art at ease abide | 25 |
| In peace, unknown to woe, | |
| While o’er my flowers, humbled from their pride, | |
| Thy nettles grow? | |
| |
| Thou sittest high exalted, lofty foe! | |
| To judge the sons of God; | 30 |
| And with thy judgments stern dost bring them low | |
| Beneath thy rod. | |
| |
| Yea, more, to burn the Law thou durst decree— | |
| God’s word to banish hence; | |
| Then blest be he who shall award to thee | 35 |
| Thy recompense! | |
| |
| Was it for this, thou Law, my Rock of old | |
| Gave thee with flames begirt, | |
| That in thine after-days should fire seize hold | |
| Upon thy skirt? | 40 |
| |
| O Sinai! was it then for this God chose | |
| Thy mount of modest height, | |
| Rejecting statelier, while on thee arose | |
| His glorious light? | |
| |
| Wast thou an omen that from noble state | 45 |
| The Law should lowly be? | |
| And lo! a parable will I relate | |
| Befitting thee. | |
| |
| ’Tis of a king I tell, who sat before | |
| The banquet of his son | 50 |
| And wept: for ’mid the mirth he death foresaw; | |
| So thou hast done. | |
| |
| Cast off thy robe; in sackcloth folds of night, | |
| O Sinai! cover thee; | |
| Don widow’s garb, discard thy raiment bright | 55 |
| Of royalty. | |
| |
| Lo, I will weep for thee until my tears | |
| Swell as a stream and flow | |
| Unto the graves where Thy two princely seers | |
| Sleep calm below: | 60 |
| |
| Moses and Aaron in the Mountain Hor; | |
| I will of them inquire: | |
| Is there another to replace this Law | |
| Devoured of fire? | |
| |
| O thou third month most sacred! woe is me | 65 |
| For treason of the fourth, | |
| Which dimmed the sacred light that shone from thee | |
| And kindled wrath; | |
| |
| And break the tablets, yea, and still did rage: | |
| And lo! the Law is burnt! | 70 |
| Ye sinful! is not this the twofold wage | |
| Which ye have earnt? | |
| |
| Dismal hath seized upon my soul; how, then, | |
| Can food be sweet to me, | |
| When, O thou Law, I have beheld base men | 75 |
| Destroying thee? | |
| |
| They cast thee out as one despised, and burn | |
| The wealth of God Most High; | |
| They whom from thine assembly thou wouldst spurn | |
| From drawing nigh. | 80 |
| |
| I cannot pass along the highway more, | |
| Nor seek thy ways forlorn; | |
| How do thy paths their loneliness deplore! | |
| Lo! how they mourn! | |
| |
| The mingled cup shall taste as honey sweet | 85 |
| Where tears o’erbrim the wine; | |
| Yea, and thy chains upon my shackled feet | |
| Are joy divine. | |
| |
| Sweet would it be unto mine eyes alway | |
| A rain of tears to pour, | 90 |
| To sob and drench thy sacred robes, till they | |
| Could hold no more. | |
| |
| But lo! my tears are dried, when, fast outpoured, | |
| They down my cheeks are shed; | |
| Scorched by the fire within: because thy Lord | 95 |
| Hath turned and fled. | |
| |
| Taking His holy treasure, He hath made | |
| His journey far away; | |
| And with Him hath not thy protecting shade | |
| Vanished for aye? | 100 |
| |
| And I am desolate and sore bereft, | |
| Lo! a forsaken one: | |
| Like a sole beacon on a mountain left, | |
| A tower alone. | |
| |
| I hear the voice of singers now no more, | 105 |
| Silence their song hath bound; | |
| The strings are broken which on harps of yore | |
| Breathed forth sweet sound. | |
| |
| In sackcloth I will clothe and sable band, | |
| For well-beloved by me | 110 |
| Were they whose lives were many as the sand— | |
| The slain of thee. | |
| |
| I am astonished that the day’s fair light | |
| Yet shineth brilliantly | |
| On all things:—it is ever dark as night | 115 |
| To me and thee. | |
| |
| Send with a bitter cry to God above | |
| Thine anguish, nor withhold: | |
| Ah! that He would remember yet His love, | |
| His troth of old! | 120 |
| |
| Gird on the sackcloth of thy misery | |
| For that devouring fire, | |
| Which burst forth ravenous on thine and thee | |
| With wasting dire. | |
| |
| E’en as thy Rock hath sore afflicted thee, | 125 |
| He will assuage thy woe, | |
| Will turn again the tribes’ captivity, | |
| And raise the low. | |
| |
| Yet shalt thou wear thy scarlet raiment choice, | |
| And sound the timbrels high, | 130 |
| And yet amid the dancers shalt rejoice | |
| With gladdened cry. | |
| |
| My heart shall be uplifted on the day | |
| The Rock shall be thy light, | |
| When He shall make thy gloom to pass away, | 135 |
| Thy darkness bright. | |
| |
