Poetical Pictures of the Great War Suitable for Recitation. First Series ... Second Series ... Third Series ... Fourth Series. By Mackenzie Bell |
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THE CHIEF RABBI OF LYONS. |
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 | Poetical Pictures of the Great War |  |
THE CHIEF RABBI OF LYONS.
(Autumn, 1914).
Among the sunny vineyards of fair France
Creeps the slow agony of War's mischance;
And, day by day, more villagers awake
To find their homesteads, wrapt in battle, quake;
To find their low, ridged terraces of vines,
On which, it seems to them, the kind sun shines
In countless autumns past, so lovingly,
Are trampled by the surge of cavalry.
Creeps the slow agony of War's mischance;
And, day by day, more villagers awake
To find their homesteads, wrapt in battle, quake;
To find their low, ridged terraces of vines,
On which, it seems to them, the kind sun shines
In countless autumns past, so lovingly,
Are trampled by the surge of cavalry.
On yonder wooded heights men see for days
The charge and counter-charge 'mid sulphurous haze.
Yet, hourly, hourly, men of mercy stir
With gentle touch to tend the wounded there,
Or soothe the dying in their direst need—
Men of kind hearts, though differing as to creed.
A rabbi here, bravest of these brave souls,
Who know no fear although War's thunder rolls,
Happily, hitherto, untouched by scathe,
Still cheers and comforts those of his own faith.
The charge and counter-charge 'mid sulphurous haze.
Yet, hourly, hourly, men of mercy stir
With gentle touch to tend the wounded there,
Men of kind hearts, though differing as to creed.
A rabbi here, bravest of these brave souls,
Who know no fear although War's thunder rolls,
Happily, hitherto, untouched by scathe,
Still cheers and comforts those of his own faith.
Once, as he moves on his heroic round,
To him, faint yet distinct, there comes a sound
Of piteous entreaty, and he sees,
A little way removed among the trees,
A soldier dying. He deceived, perchance,
By grievous pain, or by a fleeting glance,
The rabbi, in his dark-hued garb, mistakes
For some good curé, and, with voice which quakes
With death on-coming, asks before his eyes
The crucifix be held. Without surprise
The rabbi does his bidding. O wise man!
To rank Humanity above the ban
Of dogma. Shall not this be thy reward
Thy soul made happy by thy high soul's Lord?
To him, faint yet distinct, there comes a sound
Of piteous entreaty, and he sees,
A little way removed among the trees,
A soldier dying. He deceived, perchance,
By grievous pain, or by a fleeting glance,
The rabbi, in his dark-hued garb, mistakes
For some good curé, and, with voice which quakes
With death on-coming, asks before his eyes
The crucifix be held. Without surprise
The rabbi does his bidding. O wise man!
To rank Humanity above the ban
Of dogma. Shall not this be thy reward
Thy soul made happy by thy high soul's Lord?
| Poetical Pictures of the Great War | |