Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917.
By Leon HühnerThe Jewish Exile
W
Gathered from afar and near;
Wherefore, father, tell me, wherefore
Are these weary pilgrims here?
Brings together Israel’s fold;
Many of these weary pilgrims
Once were warriors, strong and bold.
That was once thy father’s home;
Now dishonored and forsaken,
’Tis the seat of hated Rome.
I, my child, and all my kin,
And Judea’s long lost freedom
Once again we sought to win.
Was against our glorious band;
And at Bethar’s bloody battle
Died the noblest of the land.
Not content with such a prize,
Heeded not our women’s mourning,
Heeded not our children’s cries.
From their own and native soil;
Sold them into dreadful bondage,
To a life of hated toil.
With a ruthless hand and bold;
And the heathen dwells unpunished
Where the priesthood dwelt of old.
Even changed her sacred name;
They have reared a heathen temple
On the ruins of our fame.
And to fill it to the brim,
Hadrian hurled his mighty fiat
With a purpose stern and grim,
Israel’s foot may never tread,
Though beneath that soil lie buried
All the dearest of our dead.
Of a cruel, heartless foe;
Yet a life of hopeless exile
Is by far the greatest woe.
Once a year, we still may meet,
Where the city of our fathers
May our tearful vision greet.
And we gather from the plain;
Here, amid her desolation,
We behold her once again.
Break the Roman’s haughty pride,
Never shall I cease my mourning
Never shall my tears be dried.
Mindful of his chosen gem,
Will some day restore to glory
Israel and Jerusalem.