The Banner of the Jew

WAKE, Israel, wake! Recall today

The glorious Maccabean rage,

The sire heroic, hoary-gray,

His five-fold lion-lineage:

The Wise, the Elect, the Help-of-God,

The Burst-of-Spring, the Avenging Rod.

From Mizpeh’s mountain-side they saw

Jerusalem’s empty streets, her shrine

Laid waste where Greeks profaned the Law,

With idol and with pagan sign.

Mourners in tattered black were there,

With ashes sprinkled on their hair.

Then from the stony peak there rang

A blast to ope the graves: down poured

The Maccabean clan, who sang

Their battle-anthem to the Lord.

Five heroes lead, and following, see,

Ten thousand rush to victory!

Oh, for Jerusalem’s trumpet now,

To blow a blast of shattering power,

To wake the sleepers high and low,

And rouse them to the urgent hour!

No band for vengeance—but to save,

A million naked swords should wave.

Oh, deem not dead that martial fire,

Say not the mystic flame is spent!

With Moses’ law and David’s lyre,

Your ancient strength remains unbent.

Let but an Ezra rise anew,

To lift the Banner of the Jew!

A rag, a mock at first—ere long,

When men have bled and women wept,

To guard its precious folds from wrong,

Even they who shrunk, even they who slept,

Shall leap to bless it and to save.

Strike! for the brave revere the brave!