Hebrew Literature Part 49

The Beauty of the Female is completed by the Beauty of the Male. And now have we established these facts (concerning the perfect equality of Male and Female), and they are made known unto the Companions.

With this Woman (the inferior H) are connected all those things which are below; from Her do they receive their nourishment, and from Her do they receive blessing; and She is called the Mother of them all.

It is written, Prov. vii. 4, "Say unto Chokmah, Thou art my sister."(878) For there is given one Chokmah (Male), and there is also given another Chokmah (Female).

And this Woman is called the Lesser Chokmah in respect of the other.

And therefore is it written, Cant. viii. 8, "We have a little sister and she hath no b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

For in this exile (_i.e._, separated from the King) She appeareth unto us to be "our little sister." At first, indeed, she is small, but she becometh great and greater, until she becometh the Spouse whom the King taketh unto Himself.

As it is written, Cant. viii. 10, "I am a wall, and my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are like towers."

"And my b.r.e.a.s.t.s," etc., since they are full with the nourishment of all things;(879) "like towers," because they are the great rivers which flow forth from Aima the Supernal.

HEBREW MELODIES

Translated by Mrs. Henry Lucas

Ode To Zion

Art thou not, Zion, fain 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 multiplied.

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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d wert thou, How comes it then that now Slaves fill the throne where sat thy kings before?

Oh! who will lead me on To seek the posts where, in far-distant years, The angels in their glory dawned upon Thy messengers and seers?

Oh! who will give me wings That I may fly away, And there, at rest from all my wanderings, The ruins of my heart among thy ruins lay?

I'll bend my face unto thy soil, and hold Thy stones as precious gold.

And when in Hebron I have stood beside My fathers' tombs, then will I pa.s.s in turn Thy plains and forest wide, Until I stand on Gilead and discern Mount Hor and Mount Abarim, 'neath whose crest Thy luminaries twain, thy guides and beacons rest.

Thy air is life unto my soul, thy grains Of dust are myrrh, thy streams with honey flow; Naked and barefoot, to thy ruined fanes How gladly would I go; To where the ark was treasured, and in dim Recesses dwelt the holy cherubim.

I rend the beauty of my locks, and cry In bitter wrath against the cruel fate That bids thy holy Nazarites to lie In earth contaminate.

How can I make or meat or drink my care, How can mine eyes enjoy The light of day, when I see ravens tear Thy eagles' flesh, and dogs thy lions' whelps destroy?

Away! thou cup of sorrow's poisoned gall!

Scarce can my soul thy bitterness sustain.

When I Ahola unto mind recall, I taste thy venom; and when once again Upon Aholiba I muse, thy dregs I drain.

Perfect in beauty, Zion! how in thee Do love and grace unite!

The souls of thy companions tenderly Turn unto thee; thy joy was their delight, And, weeping, they lament thy ruin now.

In distant exile, for thy sacred height They long, and toward thy gates in prayer they bow.

Thy flocks are scattered o'er the barren waste, Yet do they not forget thy sheltering fold, Unto thy garments' fringe they cling, and haste The branches of thy palms to seize and hold.

s.h.i.+nar and Pathros! come they near to thee?

Naught are they by thy Light and Right divine.

To what can be compared the majesty Of thy anointed line?

To what the singers, seers, and Levites thine?

The rule of idols fails and is cast down, Thy power eternal is, from age to age thy crown.

The Lord desires thee for his dwelling-place Eternally; and blest Is he whom G.o.d has chosen for the grace Within thy courts to rest.

Happy is he that watches, drawing near, Until he sees thy glorious lights arise, And over whom thy dawn breaks full and clear Set in the orient skies.

But happiest he, who, with exultant eyes, The bliss of thy redeemed ones shall behold, And see thy youth renewed as in the days of old.

JEHUDA HALEVI.

G.o.d, Whom Shall I Compare To Thee?

G.o.d! whom shall I compare to Thee, When Thou to none canst likened be?

Under what image shall I dare To picture Thee, when ev'rywhere All Nature's forms Thine impress bear?

Greater, O Lord! Thy glories are Than all the heavenly chariot far.

Whose mind can grasp Thy world's design?

Whose word can fitly Thee define?

Whose tongue set forth Thy powers divine?

Can heart approach, can eye behold Thee in Thy righteousness untold?

Whom didst Thou to Thy counsel call, When there was none to speak withal Since Thou wast first and Lord of all?

Thy world eternal witness bears That none its Maker's glory shares.

Thy wisdom is made manifest In all things formed by Thy behest, All with Thy seal's clear mark imprest.

Before the pillars of the sky Were raised, before the mountains high Were wrought, ere hills and dales were known, Thou in Thy majesty alone Didst sit, O G.o.d! upon Thy throne!

Hearts, seeking Thee, from search refrain, And weary tongues their praise restrain.

Thyself unbound by time and place, Thou dost pervade, support, embrace The world and all created s.p.a.ce.

The sages' minds bewildered grow, The lightning speed of thought is slow.

"Awful in praises" art Thou named; Thou fillest, strong in strength proclaimed, This universe Thy hand has framed.