On Eagles' Wings

Can bodies of clay
Be prison-houses
For hearts bound fast
To eagles' wings-—

For a man life-weary
Whose whole desire
Is to lay his face
In the chosen dust?

Yet he feared and trembled
With falling tears,

To cast Spain from him
And seek shores beyond;

To ride upon ships,

To tread through wastes,
Dens of lions,

Mountains of leopards—
But he rebuketh his dear ones
And chooseth exile,
Forsaketh shelter
And inhabiteth deserts,
While wolves of the forests
Find in his sight
The favour of maidens
In the sight of youths;

And ostriches please him
Like singers and players,
And the roaring of lions
Like the bleating of flocks;

And he setteth his delight
In the burnings of his bosom,

And the floods of his tears
Are like streams of the rivers.

He goeth up by the hills,

He goeth down by the valleys,

To perform oaths,

To fulfil vows;

He passeth by Egypt,

Toward the land of Canaan,

Toward the chosen of mountains.

The reproofs of his adversaries
Are renewed round about him,

But he heareth and is silent,

Like a man without words;

For how long should he strive with them
And how long refute them,

And why should he harass them,

Seeing they are drunken?

But how call him happy
In the bondage of kings,

Which is in his eyes
But a service of idols?

Were it well to be happy

For a man simple and upright,

Like a bird that is bound
In the hand of little boys—

In slavery to Philistines,

And Hagrites and Hittites,
Alluring his heart
With other gods

To seek their favour
And forsake God’s will,

To betray the Creator

And serve His creatures?—

The face of the morning
Would be black to his eyes,

The cup of sweetness
Bitter to his mouth,

Wearied and toiling,

Oppressed and weak,

And longing for Carmel

And the City of the Forests,’

To seek forgiveness
At the peaceful graves
Of the ark and the tablets
That are buried there.
I shall hope to pass thither,

I shall fall on their grave.

And mine eyes, at their ruin,

Shall break forth into torrents,

And all my thoughts
Trembling unto Sinai,

Mine heart and mine eyes
Unto Mount Abarim!

And how should I not weep
And pour forth tears,

And hope therefrom
The quickening of the dead?

Since there are the Cherubim
With the written tablets—

Among the earth clods,

In a place of secrets,

A place of wonders,

The fountain of prophecies—

Their faces glowing
With the glory of God!

I shall fondle its dust
I shall nestle beside it
And lament upon it
As over a grave—

And the goal of my thoughts
To make my couch
'Mid my fathers’ graves
In the demesne of the pure.

Go up, O ship!

And seek the region
Which hath for the Shekhinah
Abodes within.

O hasten thy flight
And God’s hand waft thee,

And bind thou thy wings
To the wings of the dawn—

For them that flee and wander
With the wind of the sails,

For the hearts that are torn
To a thousand shreds.

But I am in fear of
The iniquities of youth,

Those which are counted
In the scrolls of my God;

Yea, more, the iniquities
Of the days of age,

Changing ever,

Renewed every morning.

For there is no penitence
For wantonness—

And whither shall I go
Between the straits?

I imperil myself,

By forgetting my trespass,

Whilst my soul and my blood
Are delivered over to sin.

Yet trust may be drawn

From Him who is lavish of forgiveness,

And courage and strength
From the loosener of captives:

And should He judge and punish,

For good or for evil
His judgments are right.