glories, only a spark of the fire by which our Temple, the abode of our great One was engirdled, and this little spark kept us alive while the towers of our enemies crumbled to dust, and this spark leaped into celestial flame and shed light upon the faces of the heroes of our race and inspired them to endure the horrors of the Dance of Death and the tortures of the _Auto-da-fé_. Let us fan the spark again till it leap up and become a pillar of flame going before us and showing us the way to Jerusalem, the City of our sires. And if gold will not buy back our land we must try steel. As the National Poet of Israel, Naphtali Herz Imber, has so nobly sung (here he broke into the Hebrew _Wacht Am Rhein_, of which an English version would run thus): "THE WATCH ON THE JORDAN. I. "Like the crash of the thunder Which splitteth asunder The flame of the cloud, On our ears ever falling, A voice is heard calling From Zion aloud: 'Let your spirits' desires For the land of your sires Eternally burn. From the foe to deliver Our own holy river, To Jordan return.' Where the soft flowing stream Murmurs low as in dream, There set we our watch. Our watchword, 'The sword Of our land and our Lord'-- By the Jordan then set we our watch. II. "Rest in peace, lovèd land, For we rest not, but stand, Off shaken our sloth. When the boils of war rattle To shirk not the battle, We make thee our oath. As we hope for a Heaven, Thy chains shall be riven, Thine ensign unfurled. And in pride of our race We will fearlessly face The might of the world. When our trumpet is blown, And our standard is flown, Then set we our watch. Our watchword, 'The sword Of our land and our Lord'-- By Jordan then set we our watch. III. "Yea, as long as there he Birds in air, fish in sea, And blood in our veins; And the lions in might. Leaping down from the height, Shake, roaring, their manes; And the dew nightly laves The forgotten old graves Where Judah's sires sleep,-- We swear, who are living, To rest not in striving, To pause not to weep. Let the trumpet be blown, Let the standard be flown, Now set we our watch. Our watchword, 'The sword Of our land and our Lord'-- In Jordan NOW set we our watch." He sank upon the rude, wooden bench, exhausted, his eyes glittering, his raven hair dishevelled by the wildness of his gestures. He had said. For the rest of the evening he neither moved nor spake. The calm, good-humored tones of Simon Gradkoski followed like a cold shower.