JEWISH LULLABY.

MY harp is on the willow-tree,

Else would I sing, O love, to thee

A song of long ago,—

Perchance the song that Miriam sung

Ere yet Judaea's heart was wrung

By centuries of woe.

The shadow of those centuries lies

Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes;

But, hush! and close them now,

And in the dreams that thou shalt dream

The light of other days shall seem

To glorify thy brow.

I ate my crust in tears to-day,

As, scourged, I went upon my way,

And yet my darling smiled,—

Ay, beating at my breast, he laughed;

My anguish curdled not the draught,

‘ Twas sweet with love, my child.

Our harp is on the willow-tree:

I have no song to sing to thee,

As shadows round us roll;

But, hush! and sleep, and thou shalt hear

Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer

Judaea's fainting soul.