Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/37

20 Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre, Sound the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn, Chant hymns of victory till the heart take fire, The Maccabean spirit leap new-born ! "', give me Wealth!" the Egyptian cried. His prayer was granted. High as heaven, behold Palace and Pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet. World-circling traffic roared through mart and street. His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined, Set death at naught in rock-ribbed cliarnels deep. Seek Pharaoh's race to-day and ye shall find Rust and the moth, silence and dusty sleep. "O World-God, give me beauty!" cried the Greek. His prayer was granted. All the earth became Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak. Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame, Peopled the world with imaged grace and light. The lyre was his, and his the breathing might