Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE JEWISH EXILE, by LEON HUHNER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE JEWISH EXILE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Wherefore weep our brethren yonder
Last Line: Israel and jerusalem.
Subject(s): Exiles; Jews; Jews - Exodus From Egypt; Judaism


WHEREFORE weep our brethren yonder,
Gathered from afar and near;
Wherefore, father, tell me, wherefore
Are these weary pilgrims here?

Ah, my child, a day of mourning
Brings together Israel's fold;
Many of these weary pilgrims
Once were warriors, strong and bold.

See, my child, the city yonder,
That was once thy father's home;
Now dishonored and forsaken,
'Tis the seat of hated Rome.

For we rose in strong rebellion,
I, my child, and all my kin,
And Judea's long lost freedom
Once again we sought to win.

But the great decree of Heaven
Was against our glorious band;
And at Bethar's bloody battle
Died the noblest of the land.

Yet the fierce and vengeful Roman,
Not content with such a prize,
Heeded not our women's mourning,
Heeded not our children's cries.

But he cast them from their country,
From their own and native soil;
Sold them into dreadful bondage,
To a life of hated toil.

Then defiled the sacred places
With a ruthless hand and bold;
And the heathen dwells unpunished
Where the priesthood dwelt of old.

They have changed the walks of Zion,
Even changed her sacred name;
They have reared a heathen temple
On the ruins of our fame.

And to fill the cup of sorrow,
And to fill it to the brim,
Hadrian hurled his mighty fiat
With a purpose stern and grim,

That within yon sacred portals
Israel's foot may never tread,
Though beneath that soil lie buried
All the dearest of our dead.

Bitter, child, are all the tortures
Of a cruel, heartless foe;
Yet a life of hopeless exile
Is by far the greatest woe.

Here upon the Mount of Olives,
Once a year, we still may meet,
Where the city of our fathers
May our tearful vision greet.

So we gather from the mountains
And we gather from the plain;
Here, amid her desolation,
We behold her once again.

Till the sturdy sons of Judah
Break the Roman's haughty pride,
Never shall I cease my mourning
Never shall my tears be dried.

For I trust, the Lord in heaven,
Mindful of his chosen gem,
Will some day restore to glory
Israel and Jerusalem.





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