Bezalel

BEZALEL, filled with wisdom to design

Stones, precious wood, rich-embroidered fabrics, gold,

Fed not the few with cunning manifold

Nor empty loveliness; his art divine

Set up a tabernacle as a sign

Of oneness for a rabble many-souled,

So that each span of desert should behold

A nomad people with a steadfast shrine.

But we, its sons, who wander in the dark,

Footsore, far-scattered, growing less and less,

What whiteness glooms our brotherhood to mark,

What promised land our journey’s end to bless!

We are, unless we build some shrine or ark,

A dying rabble in a wilderness.