And Israel Mourned

Upon the sweet Sabbatic calm
The evil tidings swept;
And hushing every joyful psalm,
An orphaned people wept.
Alas, that human lips must tell
The somber message dread:
“O Israel, O Israel!
Thy sainted seer is dead!”
Long, long the tale of freighted years
That marked the judge’s seat,
From Shiloh’s mingled hopes and fears
To Ramah’s counsel sweet.
The chorus of their graces swell
The lamentation sore:
“O Israel! O Israel!
Thy prophet speaks no more!”
What hand hath not that guidance felt,
Or sore-pressed heart that touch,
When wayward life its impulse dealt
And sorrow overmuch?
What tender memories compel
That saddened, low refrain:
“O Israel! O Israel!
Thy comforter is slain!”
But hush, thou Jacob, feeble, faint,
Beset by traitor foe;
Take thee a paean for thy plaint,
A kingdom for thy blow.
With seer and prophet all is well.
Loud let the heavens ring:
“O Israel! O Israel!
Prepare to meet thy King!”TSAL 91.2