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.
â€”Philip M. Raskin.