The Jews in Russia

FROM town and village to a wood, stript bare,

As they of their possessions, see them throng,

Above them grows a cloud; it moves along,

As flee they from the circling wolf pack’s glare.

Is it their Broken-Shadow of despair,

The looming of their life of cruel wrong

For countless ages? No; their faith is strong

In their Jehovah; that huge cloud is prayer.

A flash of light, and black the despot lies,

What thunder round the world!

’Tis transport’s strain

Proclaiming loud: “No righteous prayer is vain.

No God-imploring tears are lost; they rise

Into a cloud, and in the sky remain,

Till they draw lightning from Jehovah’s eyes.”