Ruth

Jacob Fichman

1927

On these night fields of pure silence
My feet tread, light and sure, as upon
A homeland’s holy soil from the day
My star led me here.
How loving are the night’s wings! My eye
Discerns every bush here, each rock, each clod of earth,
And like a good and faithful hand it guides me.
Only a few days have I been here, and like a seed
Stricken by no…
Please login or register for free access to Posen Library Already have an account?
Engage with this Source

You may also like