THE DEATH OF MOSES
(A Fragment) By I. KRIM
O tell me why, why is the sun eclipsed? What ails the moon, why is her face so pale? Why weeps the sky and droppeth pearly tears? Why darken dismal, heavy clouds this earth? Why sings the nightingale a plaintive song? Why wails the wind that rustles through the leaves?
A tale.—a tale forgotten long in life's Turmoil, lights up the chambers of my soul. I am once more a tiny child, I sit On father's knees and hear the old, sweet voice: The forty years were at an end, at last. Great was the joy within Israel's camp, The grown folks raised their hands, the little ones danced: No more a wander-life, no desert more, A land where honey flows is promised them. Yet look!
'Who is that man, in mien so angel like, That looks so sad amidst the common joy? What heavy grief doth weigh upon his breast? What makes him tear his clothes? What makes him put Ashes upon his venerable head. It is Great Moses, Israel's shinin light. A message him has reached divine, it said: "Thine hour has come; thou, Amram's son, must die!" Then both his hands the prophet heavenward spread, And like a mighty stream his prayer gushed forth: "O God, O Lord of Hosts, thou knowest well Man's secret thoughts, thou knowest too my heart. What pain, what labor was my heavy lot Through all those forty years of desert life, Shall I thus die and Palestine not see?" The answer came, "I have thy death decreed, Another hand shall now the people lead." Low to the ground his head the prophet bows: "O Universal Lord, I might have asked: Are these the wages that the fait' ful gets For serving thee? Yet in thy justice deep I will not doubt, nor say that God is wrong. O Lord, if I do not deserve to lead Thy chosen people in the promised land, Then give me wings, then let me be a bird! On Lebanon then will I make my nest And there, with other birds, thy praises sing." "Cease! thy fate is sealed," the answer came.
Thus did the Lord himself the soul of Moses take.
Then was the sun eclipsed, the moon was pale, The sky wept loud, the earth was dark wit' clouds, Then sang the nightingale a plaintive song. Then wailed the wind and told the leaves his grief.