CRUMBLING, age-worn, in Rome the eternal
Stands the arch of Titus' triumph,
With its carven Jewish captives
Stooped before the holy Menorah.
And each nightfall, when the turmoil
Of the Petrine clangor ceaseth,
Seven flames the arch illumine,
Mystic burnings, glowing strangely.
Then cast off their graven shackles
Judah's sons of beaten marble;
Living step they from the ruin
Living stride they to the Jordan.
They are healèd in its waters,
Till the freshness of each dawning;
Then resume their ancient sorrow,
Perfect marble, whole and holy.
Dust of dust the wheeling seasons,
Grind that mighty archèd splendor,
Raze the Gaul and raze the Roman,
Grind away their fame and glory,
The shackled Jews alone withstand them,
Stooped before the holy Menorah.
[Illustration: _MAX NORDAU (born in Budapest, 1849), world-famous
neurologist, author, and publicist, a Nestor among Jewish leaders, and
since Herzl's death the President of the International Zionist
Congresses. His books on "Degeneration," "Paradoxes," and other
volumes of social studies, have evoked world-wide discussion. In
sending the present article to The Menorah Journal from Madrid, where
he is now sojourning on account of the War, Dr. Nordau writes: "I wish
my words may not be dropped into deaf ears. You can do much to bring
them home to the consciousness and the conscience of leading American
Jews."_]