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THE WANDERING JEW, by                    
First Line: Sweeter than softest music
Last Line: The sunset of the world.
Subject(s): Wandering Jew; Yale University


SWEETER than softest music
Of earth or sea or sky
Is the stifled gasp of dying
To him that may not die;
-- To him that, wan and deathless,
Must watch, dumb-souled with pain,
The nations rise and crumble
Till Christ shall come again.

The marble courts of Princes
My casque-plumes, sweeping low,
Brushed in their deep obeisance
A thousand years ago.
Mine was the robe of purple,
That speaks a king's right hand,
And when the war-gong thundered
Mine was the chief command.
Where axe on helm was crashing
I led, and prayed to die,
Bowed to the glittering broadsword;
The broadsword passed me by.

Within a sun-scorched city,
Lost in the desert sand,
Crazed with the rack of famine,
Dank from the Scourge's hand,
I crawled amid the stricken
And, palsied arm on high,
Prayed for the Scourge to take me,
But, lo, it passed me by.

Far in a clanging workshop
-- The West's full-furnaced Hell --
Where great earth-shaking hammers
Obedient rose and fell,
Amid the soot and turmoil,
Choked by the hissing air,
Toiling with molten rivers
I braved the white-hot glare.
Reckless of mighty engines,
And chains that burst and fly,
I prayed for them to whelm me,
But, lo, they passed me by.

And so, throughout the aeons
That roll unceasingly,
Quelled by the hand of heaven
I bow to its decree.
Toiling where toil is granted,
Wrapped in a leaden calm,
Broken of soul and weary,
I drift from pole to palm,
Straining with heavy eyelids
To catch the fire unfurled
That tokens in its gleaming
The sunset of the World.





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