THE JEWISH SOLDIER
It clamors, storms and rattles, it roars and loudly calls;
And ’neath the storm the silent earth cleaves and doth open stand;
The hero rises from his grave, his drawn sword in his hand.
He stands upon the fortress, grim courage in his frown,
And from the wound within his heart the blood is flowing down.
His pure blood wells forth freely, his heart’s deep wound is wide;
He lifts his sword, and cries in tones that ring on every side:
“My comrades of the war, arise to judgment! Speak and say!
Tell me, did I fight faithfully upon the battle day?
Say, did I fall upon this spot with an heroic band,
And die for Russia’s honor, die for the Russian land?”
And then in wrath a countless host awakens suddenly,
As many as the sands that sleep beside a silent sea.
For swiftly the whole army arises at his call;
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