Blessing the Lights

SILVER candlesticks that beam,

Holding candles ranged in line,

Stand on snowy tablecloth,

Near the Sabbath bread and wine.

Lovingly my mother lights

Six white candles, one for each

Dear and loving, living child,

When the twilight hours reach

Bringing in the Sabbath bride;

And in festive robes arrayed,

Spreads her palms before her eyes

Moistened by the tears that strayed;

And, like beamings of Shekinah,

Some ethereal beauty plays

Round her lips as, nodding, she

In a plaintive murmur prays,

By the candle’s light and flame;

And her face begins to shine,

And her brow with grace is haloed

And transfigured, calm, divine

Looks she, chanting soft and low;

“Lord of life and joy and light,

Man whose flame of life is short

Makes his light all clear and bright.

“May my children, plants of Zion,

Love Thee, doing Thy behest,

Fed on manna of the Bible,

Nourished by the Torah’s breast.

“Make us, scions of the prophets,

Happy in a life lived whole;

Lived in honor, labor, love,

Lived in holiness of soul.

“I, Thy handmaid, what am I?

But to all you deign your grace;

Make my children little lights,

Lighting well their little place.

“Make us, seed of Abraham,

Love-flames burning far and free;

Lights of love and lights of virtue,

Shining, beaming, God, for Thee,”