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The Jewish Year
Our year begins with burnished leaves,
That flame in frost and rime,
With purple grapes and golden sheaves
In harvest time.
Our year begins with biting cold,
With winds and storms and rain;
The new year of the Jew grows old
In strife and pain.
When others say the year has died,
We say the year is new,
And we arise with power and pride
To prove it true.
For we begin where others end,
And fight where others yield;
And all the year we work and tend
Our harvest field.
And after days of stormy rain
And days of drought and heat,
When those that toiled have reaped their grain,
And all’s complete.
Oh then, when God has kept his word,
In peace we end our year.
Our fruit is certain from the Lord.
We shall not fear.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.