JEWISH LULLABY.

MY harp is on the willow-tree, Else would I sing, O love, to thee A song of long ago,— Perchance the song that Miriam sung Ere yet Judaea's heart was wrung By centuries of woe.

The shadow of those centuries lies Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes; But, hush! and close them now, And in the dreams that thou shalt dream The light of other days shall seem To glorify thy brow.

I ate my crust in tears to-day, As, scourged, I went upon my way, And yet my darling smiled,— Ay, beating at my breast, he laughed; My anguish curdled not the draught, 'Twas sweet with love, my child.

Our harp is on the willow-tree: I have no song to sing to thee, As shadows round us roll; But, hush! and sleep, and thou shalt hear Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer Judaea's fainting soul.