Classic Poem

I bought my paper at the crowded corner
And almost shouted as I read the news:
" Jerusalem Taken — Freedom for the Jews. "
Here was a line to answer friend and scorner!
A triumph for the just; a proof that Time,
So negligent of the affairs of men,
Had turned and given us our own at last.
And then
He stumbled past —
A cross between a monarch and a mourner.
Dark-eyed and dismal, but with a sublime
Assurance in his face.
A pride of race
Endowed him with an insolent sort of grace;
Something at once rebellious and resigned;
A dignity that shamed the yoke;
A warmth that called and clasped me to my kind.
And then he spoke:

" What should we want with Zion now, we Jews
With iron in our souls, with brain and thews
Hardened by hammering epochs: We who made
Thundering dictates that have swayed
And outlived conquering empires: We
In whom a fresh and fiery energy
Has blossomed into psalms and saviours, turned
A savage tribe to kings and priests that burned
To set a whole world free.
Dreamers that rose against the darkening hordes;
Poets in armor; prophets bearing swords —
We who have lived, triumphant in defeat,
Spurring a lagging world shall we now meet
To find the softest path, the easiest road
And run, rejoicing, to a snug retreat?
What trade have we with comfort well-bestowed,
Who are the world's uncomfortable goad!
Sorrow has been our quickening bread, and pain
The healing wine that made us strong again.
A race of exiled shepherds without a fold,
We sought new flocks and stopped to weep
Over a hundred homes we could not keep;
Gathering for others what they could not hold.

By the waters of Babylon
We sat down and wept;
Upon the comfortless willows
We hung our harps.
A kingdom of priests and a holy nation,
We were nourished on hate.
Lifting our eyes to the hills
We praised all goodness and drank
Poison and prejudice,
Bigotry and death
So we went forth —
Outcast, defrauded, maligned —
Sowing the world with faith;
Kindling the world with a dream.

Kindling the earth with a dream, we spread our seed,
Warriors and wise men rising from our bones.
Summoning Maccabeus in our need,
Judas the Hammer sprang up from the stones.
We struck with him for nothing but a screed;
Assembling all the scattered tomes
And fragments of the Law, we fought and freed
The unborn Western world. We challenged Rome
Upon the blood-soaked ruins of our home.
And from Bar Kochba's smoldering defeat
We gather strength to stand against the flood
Of lies and inquisitions, greed and blood,
When chivalry became a pious cheat.
We lived to brood and suffer while the fires
Of hate beat over us at every step,
While the crusaders raged with bloody feet
And murder, to the tune of " Hep, Hep, Hep! "
Danced at our doors or swaggered down the street.
The night hears voices death could never kill
In Treves and Strasburg, Worms, Cologne and Spires.
Our ghosts still cry in York and in Seville.
The walls of Kishinev are never still.
There was but one escape for us at last —
To turn to lusty legends like a blast.
Of heartening trumpets, wring new life from these;
Facing dark futures with our fiery past,
Or heal ourselves in orient imageries.

So we have flourished, fed on dreams and doubt,
God-makers and god-breakers, lashing out
With Job-like questioning at God and death
And answering ourselves in that same breath.
An angry blaze, a scornful thundering
At all things and a faith in everything.
A fire that swept through Joshua and came
To white perfection in Spinoza's flame;
That lit Lassalle's and Heine's ironies,
And shone in somber radiance from the lives
Of Ibn Ezra to Maimonides.
The light that, often dimmed, persists and strives
Through poisonous clouds, from Mendelssohn to Marx;
The sun of which they all were scattered sparks.
Hillel and Jesus — even so are we —
A race that burns, an ever fiery sword,
To rescue tolerance and set freedom free.
This is our mission, let us never cast
Away our boldness which hath great reward. ...

Into the world then, let us bear this light,
Not skulk back home with it, but swing the bright
Brand into musty corners. Let the flame
Beat on all smug deceit and placid shame.
Turning our backs on softness, we shall go,
Making fresh fires and stronger beacons burn
There where the fight is darkest. Let us turn
Like a new army risen from old dreams,
To sterner measures, universal schemes
Wherever something struggles, climbs or delves.
So let us shine above the past we know
And be a light not only to ourselves.

Out of unburied ages came a voice:
" Listen, O isles, unto me,
And hearken, ye people, from afar.
The Lord hath called me and said,
Thou art my servant, O Israel, in whom I am glorified!
Yet it is too small a thing that thou shouldst be by servant
To raise up only the tribes of Jacob
And to restore the preserved of Israel:
No — I will give thee also
For a light to the Gentiles,
As a beacon to all men,
That my desire and thy mission reach
Unto the ends and stretches of the world. "

He stopped.
The gray dusk dropped its thin disguise
A moment only, and the crowd surged on.
A newsboy shrieked the news again and hopped
Between us as I sought the old man's eyes
That seemed so wise, benevolent and wan;
Less of a mystery than a shining clue.
I turned to ask something I think I knew
But never can be sure of.