The Feast of Light

Kindle the taper like the steadfast star
Ablaze on evening's forehead over the earth,
And add each night a lustre, till afar
An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth.
Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn;
Chant psalms of vict'ry till the heart take fire,
The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.

Remember how from wintry dawn till night,
Such songs were sung in Zion, when again
On the high altar flamed the sacred light,
And, purified from every Syrian stain,
The fan-like golden shields were hung,
With crowns and silken spoils, and at the shrine
Stood, midst their conqueror-tribe, five chieftains, sprung
From one heroic stock, one seed divine.

Five branches grown from Mattathias' stem,
The Blessed John, the Keen-Eyed Jonathan,
Simon the Fair, the Burst-of-Spring, the Gem,
Eleazer, Help-of-God; over all his clan
Judas, the Lion-Prince, th' Avenging-Rod,
Towered in the warrior-beauty, uncrowned king,
Armed with the breastplate and the sword of God,
Whose praise is: " He received the perishing. "

They who had camped within the mountain pass,
Couched on the rock, and tented 'neath the sky,
Who saw from Mizpah's heights the tangled grass
Choke the wide temple courts; the altar lie
Disfigured and polluted; who had flung
Their faces on the stones, and mourned aloud,
And rent their garments, wailing with one tongue,
Crushed as a wind-swept bed of reeds is bowed:

E'en they, by one voice fired, one heart of flame,
Though broken reeds, have risen and were men;
They rushed upon the spoiler and o'ercame;
Each arm for freedom had the strength of ten.
Now is their mourning into dancing turned,
Their sackcloth doffed for garments of delight;
Week-long the festive torches shall be burned,
Music and revelry wed day and night.

Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm,
The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.
Where is our Judas? Where our five-branched palm?
Where are the lion-warriors of the Lord?
Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
Sound the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn,
Chant hymns of vict'ry till the heart take fire,
The Maccabean spirit leap new-born!
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.