Long as he read into the silent night,
The winking stars soft peeping in his room,
While at his hand the dreamy, lambent light
Just lit his book and left all else in gloom.
His study walls evanished, and in mist
He saw the maid whose dead lips once he kissed:

Yet dead no more, but his dear spirit wife.
And still in heaven she sang the same glad strain
She would have sung on earth had not her life
Been given to him that he might live again,
And as she sang he wept: "Ah! woe is me,
Who robbed her of her sweet futurity."

There came a day when on the Rabbi's ears
Fell the low moans of one in mortal pain.
Slowly they died, as though dissolved in tears,
While a weak infant's wail took up the strain.
Sadly Ben Horad smiled, and raised his head:
"She has been spared that agony," he said.

Then all his sorrow died; but not for long,
For soon again the spirit voice he heard,
Crooning all day a little cradle song,
With happiness and love in every word.
And as she sang he wept: "Ah! woe is me,
Who robbed her of her sweet maternity."

Once more he heard her moans, and once again