Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By Meir of Rothenberg (Trans. Nina Davis)The Burning of the Law
A
With those that mourn for thee,
That yearn to tread thy courts, that sore desire
Thy sanctuary;
And sorrow in their souls,
And by the flames of wasting fire bereaved,
Mourn for thy scrolls;
Waiting the day to see
Which o’er them yet shall cast a radiance bright,
And over thee?
With breaking heart, in vain
Lamenting ever for thine overthrow,
And for thy pain;
As owls their moaning make,
Proclaiming bitter wailing far and nigh;
Yea, for Thy sake.
By earthly fire consumed,
Say how the foe unscorched escaped the pyre
Thy flames illumed!
In peace, unknown to woe,
While o’er my flowers, humbled from their pride,
Thy nettles grow?
To judge the sons of God;
And with thy judgments stern dost bring them low
Beneath thy rod.
God’s word to banish hence;
Then blest be he who shall award to thee
Thy recompense!
Gave thee with flames begirt,
That in thine after-days should fire seize hold
Upon thy skirt?
Thy mount of modest height,
Rejecting statelier, while on thee arose
His glorious light?
The Law should lowly be?
And lo! a parable will I relate
Befitting thee.
The banquet of his son
And wept: for ’mid the mirth he death foresaw;
So thou hast done.
O Sinai! cover thee;
Don widow’s garb, discard thy raiment bright
Of royalty.
Swell as a stream and flow
Unto the graves where Thy two princely seers
Sleep calm below:
I will of them inquire:
Is there another to replace this Law
Devoured of fire?
For treason of the fourth,
Which dimmed the sacred light that shone from thee
And kindled wrath;
And lo! the Law is burnt!
Ye sinful! is not this the twofold wage
Which ye have earnt?
Can food be sweet to me,
When, O thou Law, I have beheld base men
Destroying thee?
The wealth of God Most High;
They whom from thine assembly thou wouldst spurn
From drawing nigh.
Nor seek thy ways forlorn;
How do thy paths their loneliness deplore!
Lo! how they mourn!
Where tears o’erbrim the wine;
Yea, and thy chains upon my shackled feet
Are joy divine.
A rain of tears to pour,
To sob and drench thy sacred robes, till they
Could hold no more.
They down my cheeks are shed;
Scorched by the fire within: because thy Lord
Hath turned and fled.
His journey far away;
And with Him hath not thy protecting shade
Vanished for aye?
Lo! a forsaken one:
Like a sole beacon on a mountain left,
A tower alone.
Silence their song hath bound;
The strings are broken which on harps of yore
Breathed forth sweet sound.
For well-beloved by me
Were they whose lives were many as the sand—
The slain of thee.
Yet shineth brilliantly
On all things:—it is ever dark as night
To me and thee.
Thine anguish, nor withhold:
Ah! that He would remember yet His love,
His troth of old!
For that devouring fire,
Which burst forth ravenous on thine and thee
With wasting dire.
He will assuage thy woe,
Will turn again the tribes’ captivity,
And raise the low.
And sound the timbrels high,
And yet amid the dancers shalt rejoice
With gladdened cry.
The Rock shall be thy light,
When He shall make thy gloom to pass away,
Thy darkness bright.