Songs of Exile/The Ideal Minister
The Ideal Minister
From the Tractate Taanith in the Babylonian Talmud
BEHOLD him humble and with naught of wealth,
Save for the righteousness within his soul
And knowledge stored abundantly therein,
More precious than the riches of the earth;
Gentle and meek and lowly in his ways,
Knowing the source wherefrom his wisdom flows;
Labor despising not, he turneth toil
Into a blessing. And his heart is set
In tender moulding of a father's love.
For he hath children, that he well may know
The heart of other men; and so he prayeth
E'en with such fervor and such earnestness
For sons of others; grown compassionate,
As hath a father pity on his son.
Closed are his portals to unrighteousness;
Guilt findeth not a place beneath his roof;
His fame is perfect and his name unstained;
His life is seen not of the eyes of sin.
Unto the people, trusting, loving him,
His coming is a gladness; for he lures
The heart of them with wondrous sympathy,
Embracing all their sorrows and their joy,
Speaking the word of comfort in its time,
Rejoicing with them in their joyous day.
What can surpass the sweetness of his voice—
Revealing his soul's beauty, sending forth
Unto his heedful hearers solemn sounds
Of holiness made holier by song?
The Law speaks loud through him, the deep-toned words
Leaving an impress of authority
To hold the heart with true and sacred force.
He maketh heard the Prophets' mighty call,
The thunder of their warning and reproach,
The bitter lamentation for their sin,
The pleadings and the promises of good;
And in the sound, outpouring from his lips,
The Prophet's spirit seems to burn again,
He reads the olden books of Holy Writ,
And telling of the glory passed away,
His soul wells forth in song—a song so sweet
As though an echo of the voice Divine
Sang with it, to inspire the hearts that heard
With hope of that new glory yet to rise.
His lips are steeped in wisdom handed down
In golden links unbroke from sire to son,
Long-treasured race-traditions, still to live,
And, living, pass through ages yet unborn.
So, with his glowing words of metaphor,
Grows green the old faith's beauty; and his prayers
Rise up as incense from the shrine.—He stands
Before the Ark, and in his hands he holds
A thousand prayers, to rise as one, and bear
A people's anguish to the throne of God.
This is God's chosen Minister; this one
Shall lead his people in the righteous way
Towards the triumph.—Yet, 'tis not alone
A picture of the heart's desire for him,
A dream of what a minister must be;
Nay, for the Rabbis in their wisdom gazed
On Rabbi Isaac, Immi's noble son.