| |
| LITTLE cruet in the Temple | |
| That dost feed the sacrificial flame, | |
| What a true expressive symbol | |
| Art thou of my race, of Israel’s fame! | |
| Thou for days the oil didst furnish | 5 |
| To illume the Temple won from foe— | |
| So for centuries in my people | |
| Spirit of resistance ne’er burnt low. | |
| It was cast from home and country, | |
| Gloom and sorrow were its daily lot; | 10 |
| Yet the torch of faith gleamed steady, | |
| Courage, like thy oil, forsook it not. | |
| Mocks and jeers were all its portion, | |
| Death assailed it in ten thousand forms— | |
| Yet this people never faltered, | 15 |
| Hope, its beacon, led it through all storms. | |
| Poorer than dumb, driven cattle, | |
| It went forth enslaved from its estate, | |
| All its footsore wand’rings lighted | |
| By its consciousness of worth innate. | 20 |
| Luckless fortunes could not bend it; | |
| Unjust laws increased its wondrous faith; | |
| From its heart, exhaustless streaming, | |
| Freedom’s light shone on its thorny path. | |
| Oil that burnt in olden Temple, | 25 |
| Eight days only didst thou give forth light! | |
| Oil of faith sustained this people | |
| Through the centuries of darkest night! | |
| |
