"Oh! gladly for his sake I would have died:
Take all my life and give it unto him."
They wrote, but saw not, for their eyes were dim.

And lo! the Rabbi lived; but ere the earth
Had thrice upturned its face to greet the sun,
Hushed was the little congregation's mirth,
For the sweet maiden's life its course had run;
And, decked with flowers, they bore her to her grave,
He sobbing by whom she had died to save.




THE SPIRIT SONG.


Chastened by grief, Ben Horad holier grew,
And, uncomplaining, toiled from day to day.
His sad, sweet smile his loving flock well knew,
His kindly voice their sorrows charmed away;
Yet, though he bowed before his Master's will,
His heart was sad, for he was human still.

By night or day, wherever he might stray,
Through bustling city streets or lonely lane,
One form he ever saw--a maiden gay;
One voice he heard--a soft, melodious strain:
And oh! the loneliness, to see and hear,
Yet lack the tender touch of one so dear!