But with all their distinguished merits in these branches of poetic literature, they laid no claims to recognition, nor shall we claim it for them. Their aspiration was higher. Their lay was sacred. Their ideal of poetic grandeur was the writing and singing of majestic hymns, and they have given us a hymnology, a collection of pure and sacred songs, that has never yet been equalled. We know not what rational religious fervor is, we know not what real piety is, we know not what joyful ectasy is, nor what tearful and penitent tenderness means, we know not what trust in, and love of God is, we know not what it is to hear the heart speak to and of God, and the soul sing her Maker's praise, we know not what passionate devotion to, and deathless love for, Israel's cause, for the memory of her glorious past and for the hopes of her future is, we know not what all these are and mean, until we have read some of the hymns and sacred odes and elegies and meditations of the Jewish poets of Spain. Turn to your "Day of Atonement" services; read there the inexpressibly beautiful contributions to sacred poetic literature by Rabbi _Solomon ben Jehuda Gabirol_, or Rabbi _Joseph ben Ibn Abitur_, or Rabbi _Bechai ben Joseph_, or Rabbi _Moses ben Esra_, or the greatest of them all Rabbi _Jehuda ben Samuel Ha-Levi_, and answer it, where have you seen and where have you read or heard, anything that will bear comparison, with their religious poetry? Let us see the following from Gabirol: MEDITATIONS. Forget thine anguish, Vexed heart, again, Why should'st thou languish, With earthly pain? The husk shall slumber, Bedded in clay, Silent and sombre, Oblivion's prey! But, Spirit immortal, Thou at Death's portal, Tremblest with fear. If he caress thee, Curse thee or bless thee, Thou must draw near, From him the worth of thy works to hear. Why full of terror, Compassed with error, Trouble thy heart, For thy mortal part? The soul flies home-- The corpse is dumb. Of all thou didst have, Follows naught to the grave. Thou fliest thy nest, Swift as a bird to thy place of rest. What avail grief and fasting, Where nothing is lasting? Pomp, domination, Become tribulation. In a health-giving draught, A death-dealing shaft. Wealth--an illusion, Power--a lie, Over all, dissolution Creeps silent and sly. Unto others remain The goods thou didst gain With infinite pain. Life is a vine-branch; A vintager, death. He threatens and lowers More near with each breath. Then hasten, arise! Seek God, oh my soul! For time quickly flies, Still far is the goal. Vain heart praying dumbly, Learn to prize humbly, The meanest of fare. Forget all thy sorrow, Behold, Death is there!