| |
| MAY has come from out the showers, | |
| Sun and splendor in her train. | |
| All the grasses and the flowers | |
| Waken up to life again. | |
| Once again the leaves do show | 5 |
| And the meadow’s blossoms blow, | |
| Once again through hills and dales | |
| Rise the songs of nightingales. | |
| |
| Wheresoe’er on field and hillside, | |
| With her paint-brush Spring is seen | 10 |
| In the valley, by the rillside, | |
| All the earth is decked with green. | |
| Once again the sun beguiles— | |
| Moves the drowsy world to smiles. | |
| See! the sun with mother-kiss | 15 |
| Wakes her child to joy and bliss. | |
| |
| Now each human feeling presses | |
| Flower like, upward to the sun, | |
| Softly through the heart’s recesses | |
| Steal sweet fancies one by one. | 20 |
| Golden dreams their wings outshaking | |
| Now are making | |
| Realms celestial | |
| All of azure | |
| New life waking | 25 |
| Bringing treasure | |
| Out of measure | |
| For the soul’s delight and pleasure. | |
| Who then, tell me, old and sad, | |
| Nears us with a heavy tread | 30 |
| On the sward in verdure clad, | |
| Lonely is the strange newcomer; | |
| Wearily he walks and slow, | |
| His sweet springtime and his summer | |
| Faded long and long ago. | 35 |
| |
| Say, who is it yonder walks | |
| Past the hedgerows decked anew, | |
| While a fearful spectre stalks | |
| By his side thy woodland through— | |
| ’Tis our ancient friend the Jew! | 40 |
| No sweet fancies hover round him, | |
| Naught but terror and distress; | |
| Wounds unhealed | |
| Where lie revealed | |
| Ghosts of former recollections, | 45 |
| Corpses, corpses, old affections, | |
| Buried youth and happiness. | |
| |
| Bier and blossom bow to meet him | |
| In derision round his path; | |
| Gloomily the hemlocks greet him | 50 |
| And the crow screams out in wrath. | |
| Strange the birds and strange the flowers, | |
| Strange the sunshine seems and dim, | |
| Folk on earth and heavenly powers!— | |
| Lo, the May is strange to him. | 55 |
| |
| Little flowers, it were meeter, | |
| If ye made not quite so bold; | |
| Sweet ye are, but oh, far sweeter | |
| Knew he in the days of old. | |
| Oranges by thousands blowing | 60 |
| Filled his groves on either hand, | |
| All the plants were God’s own sowing | |
| In his far-off happy land. | |
| |
| Ask the cedars on the mountain, | |
| Ask them for they know him well! | 65 |
| Myrtles green by Sharon’s fountain | |
| In whose shade he loved to dwell. | |
| Ask the Mount of Olives beauteous,— | |
| Ev’ry tree by ev’ry stream, | |
| One and all will answer duteous | 70 |
| For the fair and ancient dream. | |
| |
| O’er the desert and the pleasance | |
| Gales of Eden softly blew, | |
| And the Lord His loving Presence | |
| Evermore declared anew. | 75 |
| Angel children at their leisure, | |
| Played in thousands round His tent | |
| Countless thoughts of joy and pleasure | |
| Go to His beloved sent. | |
| |
| There in bygone days and olden | 80 |
| From a wonderous harp and golden | |
| Charmed he music spirit-haunting, | |
| Holy, chaste and soul-enchanting; | |
| Never with the ancient sweetness, | |
| Never in its old completeness | 85 |
| Shall it sound; his dream is ended | |
| On a willow bough suspended. | |
| |
| Gone that dream so fair and fleeting! | |
| Yet behold; thou dreamst anew; | |
| Hark a new May gives thee greeting | 90 |
| From afar. Dost hear it Jew? | |
| Weep no more, although with sorrows | |
| Bow’d e’en to the grave; I see | |
| Happier years and brighter morrows | |
| Dawning, Israel, for thee! | 95 |
| Hear’st thou not the promise ring | |
| Where, like doves on silvery wing, | |
| Thronging cherubs sweetly sing, | |
| New made songs of what shall be? | |
| |
| Hark! your olives shall be shaken | 100 |
| And your citrons and your limes | |
| Filled with fragrance. God shall waken, | |
| Lead you as in olden times; | |
| In the pastures by the river | |
| Ye once more your flocks shall tend, | 105 |
| Ye shall live and live forever | |
| Happy lives that know no end. | |
| No more wandering, no more sadness; | |
| Peace shall be your lot and still, | |
| Hero hearts shall throb with gladness | 110 |
| ’Neath Moriah’s silent hill. | |
| |
| Nevermore of dread affliction | |
| Or oppression need ye tell, | |
| Filled with joy and benediction | |
| In the old home ye shall dwell. | 115 |
| To the fatherland returning | |
| Following the homeward path, | |
| Ye shall find the embers burning | |
| Still upon the ruined hearth! | |
| |
