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Chaim Nachman Bialik

The spokesman of an age is mute!

His song sung; his word is spoken.

An ancient nation’s magic flute

Is silent and is broken.

I hear a voice high and higher

From Judah’s son and Judah’s daughter.

Who’ll now unroll our “Scroll of Fire?”

Who’ll now bewail our “Town of Slaughter?”

But never dead is the soul that sings,

Nor mute the spokesman of a race,

For word has life, and word has wings

And so shall pierce time and space.

Farewell, O singer of the “Grief and Wrath.”

Your song is sung, your past is wrought.

Your people on its freedom’s path

Shall sing your songs and think your thoughts.

—Philip M. Raskin.

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