THE JEW.

THE Jew has flourished down the ages
And lights the truth on golden pages;
Although pursued by hate and malice,
With bitter dregs within his chalice,
He yet plods on through fields of glory,
Repeating now the same old story:
That hope and love and work and
right

Shall wear and win in every fight.

WILLIAM JOYCE. (Written in 1911.)

"JEW!"

Silent and wise and changeless,
Stamped with the Orient still;
In many a country nameless-
In every land, a Will.

Master of two things is he-
Self, and the Power of Gold.
He thinks-the World is busy;
They bargain-he has sold!

Lord of the Marts of Nations,
Where the World's wide commerce
plies-

Master of infinite Patience,

Slandered by infinite Lies!

Towering, fair-haired Norseman,
Tartar of Novgorod,
Black-eyed Arab horseman,
Zulu chief unshod-

All borrow for War or trading
And promise with oaths not new;
All turn, with the danger fading,
And sneer at the lender-"Jew!"

GEORGE VAUX BACON.
(Published Chicago, 1911).
VITALITY OF THE JEWISH
NATION.

A PEOPLE Scattered wide, indeed,

Yet from the mingling world distinctly

kept;

Ages ago the Roman standard stood Upon their ruins; yet have ages swept O'er Rome itself, like an overwhelming flood;

Since down Jerusalem's streets she poured her children's bloodAnd still the nation lives!

BULL'S MUSEUM (London).

THE NUBIAN, GREEK AND JEW.

THE Nubian, with black shining skin,
Sits half hid in white sand,
Greeting the warm sun with a grin.
He scoops deep with his hand
For tortoise egg or buried bird,
Or spawn, that he may bite.

In him mind has no more than stirred.
He grins at the Sun for its light
And heat-the log fire builded high
In the thick jungle of night,
Whose cold and darkness, tigers sly,
Skulk off. He laughs outright
When polished Greek with rapture

cries:

The Sun how beauteous! So Did civilizing Egypt rise,

Whose roseate setting glow Is in the strata under you." The Nubian understands

The Greek, as much as the Greek, the Jew,

Pure soul, who lifts his hands Up to the Sun, exclaiming: "Hail Rapt Seraph, who dost see God in His glory void of vail! What thou art I shall be." EDWARD DOYLE.

SONG OF THE FIFTH RIVER.

WHEN first by Eden Tree,

The Four Great Rivers ran, To each was appointed a Man, Her Prince and Ruler to be.

But after this was ordained,

(The ancient legends tell), There came dark Israèl, For whom no River remained.

Then He That is Wholly Just,

Said to him: "Fling on the ground

A handful of yellow dust,

And a Fifth Great River shall run, Mightier than these Four,

In secret the Earth around; And Her secret evermore,

Shall be shown to thee and thy Race."

So it was said and done.

And, deep in the veins of Earth,

And, fed by a thousand springs That comfort the market-place,

Or rap the power of Kings, The Fifth Great River had birth, Even as it was foretoldThe Secret River of Gold!

And Israel laid down

His sceptre and his crown,
To brood on that River bank.
Where the waters flashed and sank,
And burrowed in earth and fell,

And bided a season below,

For reason that none might know Save only Israèl.

He is Lord of the Last

The Fifth, most wonderful, Flood. He hears her thunder past

And Her Song is in his blood. He can foresay: "She will fall,"

For he knows which fountain dries, Behind which desert belt

A thousand leagues to the South.
He can foresay: "She will rise."
He knows what far snows melt;
Along what mountain wall
A thousand leagues to the North.
He snuffs the coming drouth
As he snuffs the coming rain,

He knows what each will bring forth And turns it to his gain.

A Prince without a Sword,
A Ruler without a Throne;
Israel follows his quest :-
In every land a guest.
Of many lands the lord.
In no land King is he.

But the Fifth Great River keeps
The secret of her deeps

For Israel alone,

As it was ordered to be.

RUDYARD KIPLING (1865-).

JEWESS.

My dark-browed daughter of the Sun,
Dear Bedouin of the desert sands,
Sad daughter of the ravished lands,
Of savage Sinai, Babylon-

O, Egypt-eyed, thou art to me
A God-encompassed mystery.

I see sad Hagar in thy eyes,
The obelisks, the pyramids,

Waked by the voice of the Angel of Doom,

Then may she burst in the dark gates of the tomb,

Arrayed in white robes, and radiant with bloom

To sing in the Land of Dreams,-
The beautiful Land of Dreams.

CLARK B. COCHRANE.

A JEWISH FAMILY.

(In a small valley opposite St. Goar, upon the Rhine.)

GENIUS of Raphael! if thy wings
Might bear thee to this glen,

With faithful memory left of things
To pencil dear and pen,

Thou wouldst forego the neighboring

Rhine,

And all his majesty,

A studious forehead to incline

O'er this poor family.

The Mother-her thou must have seen,
In spirit, ere she came

To dwell these rifted rocks between,
Or found on earth a name;
An image, too, of that sweet Boy,
Thy inspirations give:

Of playfulness, and love, and joy,
Predestined here to live.

Downcast, or shooting glances far,
How beautiful his eyes,
That blend the nature of the star

With that of summer skies!
I speak as if of sense beguiled;
Uncounted months are gone,
Yet am I with the Jewish Child,
That exquisite Saint John.

I see the dark brown curls, the brow,
The smooth, transparent skin,
Refined, as with intent to show
The holiness within;

The grace of parting Infancy
By blushes yet untamed;

Age faithful to the mother's knee,
Nor of her arms ashamed.

Two lovely sisters, still and sweet
As flowers, stand side by side;
Their soul-subduing looks might cheat
The Christian of his pride:

Such beauty hath the Eternal poured
Upon them not forlorn,

Though of a lineage once abhorred,
Nor yet redeemed from scorn.