To Thee-whose temple is all space;
Whose altar earth, sea, skies-
One chorus let all beings raise,

All Nature's incense rise.

ALEXANDER POPE

122

THE LORD IS NIGH

When the storm-shattered vessel is tossed by the gale,

And each billow speeds on, bearing havoc and

death,

Till the courage grows weak and the strength waxes

frail,

With the wild sky above and the wild waves be

neath;

When the young heart is crush'd 'mid its early delights,

And the soul is bowed down with a weight of

despair,

And we turn from a treacherous world, that re

quites

Our warmest heart-treasures with anguish and

care;

When the one whom we cherished turns coldly away, And we weep o'er the dream that has cheated our youth,

And mourn that no longer one love-beaming ray Will return to illumine our pathway with truth;

Then, then in our anguish we fly unto Thee,

When the false world is fading like dreams of

the night,

And the idols to whom we have bended the knee Have fallen to earth and are hid from our sight.

And Thou! oh! Thou hearest the suppliant's voice, Whether tossed on the ocean, or wrecked on the

earth;

And Thy mercy can cause the sad heart to rejoice, Though surrounded by perils and storms from its birth.

REBECCA HYNEMAN

123

THE REWARD OF CHARITY

A TALMUDIC TRADITION TURNED INTO VERSE

In Baba Bathra, on the Talmud page,
The tale is told of Benjamin, the Sage,
The almoner, who kept the revenues
Collected in the Temple for the use

Of those he loved far better than the priests,
Whose tithe-receipts were ample for their feasts.
And wisely, too, these poor-pence he bestowed,
Regardless of the reading of the code,
Which bade him scan with diligent concern
The status of each applicant in turn.

E'er vigilant to succor all distress,

The meagre funds soon every day grew less,
Until he found, whene'er the week expired,
That he'd expended more than he acquired.
And oftener than not he borrowed more
From out his own resources for the poor.

It chanced one day when want and famine spread
Throughout the land,-inspiring all with dread-
A woman came to Benjamin the Good,
Imploring him, in mercy's name, for food.
He lifted up a pale and anxious face
And said to her with melancholy grace:

"I swear, my daughter, by God's holy shrine,
Our funds are spent, or else they would be thine!"
"O, Rabbi," came the quavering reply,

“Then with my seven children I must die!" The Rabbi felt no human need was worse, And gave her all he carried in his purse.

In course of time he sickened, and he knew
His days on earth remaining were but few,
For Death was there, impatient by his side,
The one great power no human yet defied.
But lo! the Hosts and Archangels began
To intercede for this God-fearing man:

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'Thou'st said, O Lord,” in chorus they appealed, "That he who but one single soul did shield Is counted as though he had saved the world. Shall Benjamin the Righteous now be hurled

So early to his doom? Who freely gave
His meagre hoard to rescue from the grave
Eight human souls?"-this spake the angels, and
Their shimmering wings the Council Chamber
spanned.

They waited breathless for the mandate-Word
Of Him who rules the earth. At last they heard
The high behest reverberate and soar:

66

That man shall live yet twenty-two years more!"

*

*

*

*

*

And hence the name of Benjamin is wrote
With that of other righteous men of note,
Eternally in old Rabbinic Script,

As though he were some great Apocalypt.

GEORGE ALEXANDER KOHUT

124

MY KING

Ere time began, ere age to age had thrilled,
I waited in His storehouse, as He willed;
He gave me being, but my years fulfilled,

I shall be summoned back before the King.

He called the hidden to the light of day,
To right and left, each side the fountain lay,
From out the stream and down the steps, the way
That led me to the presence of the King.

Thou gavest me a light my path to guide,
To prove my heart's redresses still untried;
And as I went, Thy voice in warning cried:
"Child! fear thou Him who is thy God and
King!"

True weight and measure learned my heart from Thee;

If blessings follow, then what joy for me!

If naught but sin, all mine the shame must be,
For that was not determined by the King.

I hasten, trembling, to confess the whole.

Of my transgressions, ere I reach the goal

Where mine own words must witness 'gainst my soul,

And who dares doubt the writing of the King?

Erring, I wandered in the wilderness,
In passion's grave nigh sinking powerless;
Now deeply I repent, in sore distress,
That I kept not the statutes of the King!

With worldly longings was my bosom fraught,
Earth's idle toys and follies all I sought;
Ah! when He judges joys so dearly bought,
How greatly shall I fear my Lord and King!

Now conscience-stricken, humbled to the dust,
Doubting myself, in Thee alone I trust;

I shrink in terror back, for God is just

How can a sinner hope to reach the King?