Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By C. David MattSimchas Torah
F
And in the sad procession,
Our Fathers bore the sacred Law
Their one most dear possession.
To ravish and to spoil,
They left their rich and plenteous store,
The fruits of a life of toil.
They bore the precious scroll,
To shield it or to die for it,
To pay the exile’s toll.
Of banner and scroll and light,
The Jew clasps tight the self-same Law
He bore through oppression’s night.
Unto thy Maker give.
No more the Torah bids thee die;
To-day it bids thee live!
Each sacred memory,
Which time has woven in a crown
Of glory unto thee.
And the hour be given to cheer;
For the cycle of reading is ended
On the happiest day of the year.
Avow you delight to be through,
Lovingly wind it from end to start;
Begin to read it anew.