By the Waters of Babylon
BITTER were the memories of Babylon. The harp was hung upon the willow-tree, and there was sad weeping for the faraway alnd so desolate and forlorn. They could not sing the old songs in a strange land, nor could they hold their heads erect in exile and affliction. Black was the horizon.
BUT from the mournful dirges there intoned, pressed out of anguish of heart, there arose a spirit that created an Ezra, a Nehemiah, a Judas Maccabæus, a Bar-Kochba; that stimulated their descendants to righteousness and national integrity in ages when men were uncouth and barbarous; and that bouyed up the heart to great endeavors and often, alas, to patient burden-bearing.
NO more shall the memories of Babylon echo a dirge, rather an Anthem of Jubilation! For, seated by the still waters, with broken harp in hand, with daughters weeping and children nestling fearfully in their mother's arms, where old men reverted to the past with longing, the great Jewish national spirit was born which gave them courage to endure, power to struggle and faith to hope!