| Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917. | | | | In Exile | | By Morris Rosenfeld (Trans. Isidore Myers) |
| | | GO, with the wand’rer’s staff in hand, | |
| Without a home, without a land, | |
| Without to-morrow, or to-day, | |
| Ne’er tolerated, e’er in flight | |
| Not found by day where lodged by night. | 5 |
| Forever woe, woe, woe, | |
| Forever go, go, go, | |
| Forever drive, drive, drive, | |
| The time we barely keep alive. | |
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| Our greatness lieth in the dust; | 10 |
| Our holy life—a life unjust; | |
| Our glorious name—a danger great; | |
| Our proud descent—a cause for hate; | |
| Our genius—nothing but a crime; | |
| Our culture—scoffed at all the time. | 15 |
| E’er troubles grave, grave, grave, | |
| Forever slave, slave, slave, | |
| E’er seek to know, know, know, | |
| Joys in the curses of the foe. | |
| |
| And thus year after year, alas, | 20 |
| Yea, thus age after age doth pass | |
| Without a hope, without a goal, | |
| While dread and terror fill our soul, | |
| As wildly wandering we go, | |
| From pain to pain, from woe to woe, | 25 |
| E’er on the way, way, way, | |
| Forever sigh, sigh, sigh, | |
| And luckless e’en when we die. | |
| |
| But from our ancient city thus | |
| Beckons our ancient God to us, | 30 |
| Whose voice conveys this message blest, | |
| “Come here, at last you’ll find your rest! | |
| Yea, here, at last upon your desolate hill | |
| The son of Judah dreameth still.” | |
| Then hear Him call, call, call, | 35 |
| Go, seek the Temple’s ancient wall, | |
| Yea, trust in God, God, God, | |
| Lo, there will cease the tyrant’s rod. | | | | |
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