The Poems of Emma Lazarus Volume II Part 40

Drink, friend! behold, the dreary winter's gone, The mantle of old age has time withdrawn.

The sunbeam glitters in the morning dew, O'er hill and vale youth's bloom is surging on.

Cup-bearer! quench with snow the goblet's fire, Even as the wise man cools and stills his ire.

Look, when the jar is drained, upon the brim The light foam melteth with the heart's desire.

Cup-bearer! bring anear the silver bowl, And with the glowing gold fulfil the whole, Unto the weak new vigor it imparts, And without lance subdues the hero's soul.

My love sways, dancing, like the myrtle-tree, The ma.s.ses of her curls disheveled, see!

She kills me with her darts, intoxicates My burning blood, and will not set me free.

Within the aromatic garden come, And slowly in its shadows let us roam, The foliage be the turban for our brows, And the green branches o'er our heads a dome.

All pain thou with the goblet shalt a.s.suage, The wine-cup heals the sharpest pangs that rage, Let others crave inheritance of wealth, Joy be our portion and our heritage.

Drink in the garden, friend, anigh the rose, Richer than spice's breath the soft air blows.

If it should cease a little traitor then, A zephyr light its secret would disclose.

II.

Thou who art clothed in silk, who drawest on Proudly thy raiment of fine linen spun, Bethink thee of the day when thou alone Shall dwell at last beneath the marble stone.

Anigh the nests of adders thine abode, With the earth-crawling serpent and the toad.

Trust in the Lord, He will sustain thee there, And without fear thy soul shall rest with G.o.d.

If the world flatter thee with soft-voiced art, Know 't is a cunning witch who charms thy heart, Whose habit is to wed man's soul with grief, And those who are close-bound in love to part.

He who bestows his wealth upon the poor, Has only lent it to the Lord, be sure-- Of what avail to clasp it with clenched hand?

It goes not with us to the grave obscure.

The voice of those who dwell within the tomb, Who in corruption's house have made their home; "O ye who wander o'er us still to-day, When will ye come to share with us the gloom?"

How can'st thou ever of the world complain, And murmuring, burden it with all thy pain?

Silence! thou art a traveller at an inn, A guest, who may but over night remain.

Be thou not wroth against the proud, but show How he who yesterday great joy did know, To-day is begging for his very bread, And painfully upon a crutch must go.

How foolish they whose faith is fixed upon The treasures of their worldly wealth alone, Far wiser were it to obey the Lord, And only say, "The will of G.o.d be done!"

Has Fortune smiled on thee? Oh do not trust Her reckless joy, she still deceives and must.

Perpetual snares she spreads about thy feet, Thou shalt not rest till thou art mixed with dust.

Man is a weaver on the earth, 't is said, Who weaves and weaves--his own days are the thread, And when the length allotted he hath spun, All life is over, and all hope is dead.

IN THE NIGHT.

Unto the house of prayer my spirit yearns, Unto the sources of her being turns, To where the sacred light of heaven burns, She struggles thitherward by day and night.

The splendor of G.o.d's glory blinds her eyes, Up without wings she soareth to the skies, With silent aspiration seeks to rise, In dusky evening and in darksome night.

To her the wonders of G.o.d's works appear, She longs with fervor Him to draw anear, The tidings of His glory reach her ear, From morn to even, and from night to night.

The banner of thy grace did o'er me rest, Yet was thy worship banished from my breast.

Almighty, thou didst seek me out and test To try and to instruct me in the night.

I dare not idly on my pillow lie, With winged feet to the shrine I fain would fly, When chained by leaden slumbers heavily, Men rest in imaged shadows, dreams of night.

Infatuate I trifled youth away, In nothingness dreamed through my manhood's day.

Therefore my streaming tears I may not stay, They are my meat and drink by day and night.

In flesh imprisoned is the son of light, This life is but a bridge when seen aright.

Rise in the silent hour and pray with might, Awake and call upon thy G.o.d by night!

Hasten to cleanse thyself of sin, arise!

Follow Truth's path that leads unto the skies, As swift as yesterday existence flies, Brief even as a watch within the night.

Man enters life for trouble; all he has, And all that he beholds, is pain, alas!