RELIGIOUS POETRY

(INTRODUCTION)

AMONG the noted Hebrew poets of the Middle Ages,

Ibn Gebirol was the earliest, and Judah Halevi was the greatest. Ibn Gebirol, or, to give his name in full, Solomon ben Jehudah ibn Gebirol, was, like most of the medieval Hebrew poets, a native of Spain, born during the most brilliant epoch of its Mohammedan Arab conquerors, the days of the Caliphs, or priest-kings, of Cordova. Ibn Gebirol wrote chiefly in the Arabic tongue, was indeed the author of a work of philosophy famous among medieval scholars who knew its author only by his Arabic name as Avicebron. Yet even in his short and busy life - he died in the year 1058, when scarcely beyond thirty years old - Ibn Gebirol found time to turn to the language of his brethren and compose some tender Hebrew melodies, such as are given here.

Judah Halevi, or Jehudah hal-Levi, was born in Toledo, Spain, in the year 1080 and died in Jerusalem, or at least there disappeared from human sight and knowledge, in 1150. In those days of tumult and persecution in the East, such a disappearance implied death, whether mercifully immediate or coming only after long misery and possible imprisonment. Halevi's poems were composed in Spain, and are still treasured by his people as among their chief poetic treasures, especially his Ode to Zion. He also wrote in prose the highly poetical book "Cusari," which is given a later place in our volume.

POEMS OF IBN GEBIROL

O SOUL, WITH STORMS BESET!

O soul, with storms beset!

Thy griefs and cares forget.

Why dread earth's transient woe,
When soon thy body in the grave unseen
Shall be laid low,

And all will be forgotten then, as though
It had not been?

Wherefore, my soul, be still!
Adore God's holy will,

Fear death's supreme decree.

Thus mayest thou save thyself, and win high aid
To profit thee,

When thou, returning to thy Lord, shalt see

Thy deeds repaid.

Why muse, O troubled soul,

O'er life's poor earthly goal?

When thou hast fled, the clay

Lies mute, nor bear'st thou aught of wealth, or might

With thee that day,

But, like a bird, unto thy nest away,
Thou wilt take flight.

Why for a land lament

In which a lifetime spent

Is as a hurried breath?

Where splendor turns to gloom, and honors show

A faded wreath,

Where health and healing soon must sink beneath

The fatal bow?

What seemeth good and fair

Is often falsehood there.
Gold melts like shifting sands,

Thy hoarded riches pass to other men

And strangers' hands,

And what will all thy treasured wealth and lands Avail thee then?

Life is a vine, whose crown

The reaper Death cuts down.

His ever-watchful eyes

Mark every step until night's shadows fall,
And swiftly flies

The passing day, and ah! how distant lies
The goal of all.

Therefore, rebellious soul,
Thy base desires control;
With scantly given bread

Content thyself, nor let thy memory stray

To splendors fled,

But call to mind affliction's weight, and dread The judgment-day.

Prostrate and humbled go,

Like to the dove laid low,

Remember evermore

The peace of heaven, the Lord's eternal rest.
When burdened sore

With sorrow's load, at every step implore
His succor blest.

Before God's mercy-seat

His pardoning love entreat.

Make pure thy thoughts from sin, And bring a contrite heart as sacrifice His grace to win

Then will his angels come and lead thee in

To Paradise.

THE LAND OF PEACE

Whose works, O Lord, like thine can be, Who 'neath thy throne of grace,

For those pure souls from earth set free, Hast made a dwelling-place?

There are the sinless spirits bound,
Up in the bond of life,

The weary there new strength have found,
The weak have rest from strife.

Sweet peace and calm their spirits bless,
Who reach that heavenly home,
And never-ending pleasantness —
Such is the world to come.

There glorious visions manifold
Those happy ones delight,
And in God's presence they behold
Themselves and him aright.

In the King's palace they abide,
And at his table eat,
With kingly dainties satisfied,
Spiritual food most sweet.

This is the rest forever sure,

This is the heritage,

Whose goodness and whose bliss endure
Unchanged from age to age.

This is the land the spirit knows

That everlastingly

With milk and honey overflows ·

And such its fruit shall be.

POEMS OF JUDAH HALEVI

Art thou not, Zion, fain

ODE TO ZION

To send forth greetings from thy sacred rock
Unto thy captive train,

Who greet thee as the remnants of thy flock?

Take thou on every side

East, west, and south, and north their greetings multi

plied.

Sadly he greets thee still,

The prisoner of hope, who, day and night,

Sheds ceaseless tears, like dew on Hermon's hill
Would that they fell upon thy mountain's height!

Harsh is my voice when I bewail thy woes,
But when in fancy's dream

I see thy freedom, forth its cadence flows

Sweet as the harps that hung by Babel's stream.

My heart is sore distressed

For Bethel ever blessed,

For Peniel, and each ancient, sacred place.

The holy presence there

To thee is present where

Thy Maker opes thy gates, the gates of heaven to face.

The glory of the Lord will ever be

Thy sole and perfect light;

No need hast thou, then, to illumine thee,

Of sun by day, or moon and stars by night.
I would that, where God's spirit was of yore
Poured out unto thy holy ones, I might

There, too, my soul outpour!

The house of kings and throne of God wert thou,