Temple and Minyan
TEMPLE.
A CLOISTRAL dimness and a swooning air, Hushed light from crystal richer tinct than flower, Sweet, swaying odors, as some Orient shower Had laved the place in incense and in myrrh; Shimmerings of silk, the gleam of hair, Proud heads bent low in sacramental hour Of architecture of that spirit tower Which blossoms from the humble heart of prayer. The heads are raised; what high beati- tudes, Sat it on these, so blank of holy cheer? One talks; upon the plains of platitude How smugly doth he amble through the drear! What faith holds in this place her habi- tude? They are the Jews, they say, who worship here.
MINYAN.
Up the steep, dirty stairs with pant and sigh, Into a bleak and vaporous small room: Odors as from an old, new-opened tomb, Voices as a mother's when her children die, Words as of prophets when they prophesy, A multitude that in the vapor loom With faces of invocable doom Upturned unto their just God in the sky. God! master in these minds and hearts of men, Where art Thou on this day they give as Thine! These be Thy chosen that have broke again And worship not Thee at Thy unique shrine; Which tabernacle claims Thee denizen? Why riseth Babel in Thy Jacob's line?