The Holy Flame “Menorah”

THOU sacred flame, so mellow and subdued,

Burning with tremulous, flickering beam

In the holy place, before the all Supreme,

As though the very fire were all imbued

With that almighty prophet’s humble soul,

With Moses’ sense of deep humility,

Whose height of feeling knew no humble goal,

Whose aims bore naught of man’s futility.

Thou, holy fire, whose light shall ever guide

The steps of wandering Israel, to the shrine

Of Him who was, who is, and ne’er will cease to be;

Whose luminous fire gleams down the tide

Of centuries, both of greatness and of woe,

When Israel’s greatness bore a trace divine,

When Israel’s fortune sank, far, far below

Even the lot of those poor Nubian slaves,

Who served our fathers in the promised land;

To thee, oh ancient light! whose very name

Is a memorial of God’s earliest word,

We look to thee, and hail the conquering hand

Of wisdom’s day, o’er spiritual night,

And breathe with God: “Let there be Light.”