Classic Poem

Our year begins with burnished leaves
That flame in frost and rime,
With purple grapes and golden sheaves
In harvest time.

Our year begins with biting cold,
With winds and storms and rain;
The new year of the Jew grows old
In strife and pain.

When others say the year has died,
We say the year is new,
And we arise with power and pride
To prove it true.

For we begin where others end,
And fight where others yield;
And all the year we work and tend
Our harvest field.