“How long, O Lord, shall Thy people be cast off and trodden down, and their land, Thy land, be held by the accursed races?”
For a moment a look of pain swept into his face. Then, as he became conscious of the touch of his lowered hand upon the chapiter, his eyes travelled downwards to the exquisite “lily work,” and the light of a new hope swept the pain off his face.
“The very fact that the time has come,” he murmured, “for us to be preparing for the next temple, is a token from Jehovah that the day of Messiah draweth nigh.”
His eyes lingered a moment on the rare and beautiful workmanship, then he took up a chasing tool and continued his toil; yet, while he worked he kept up a running recitative of Ezekiel’s description of the great temple—for he knew by heart all the chapters of that prophet.
As he presently repeated the words: “And the Prince in the midst of them, when they go in, shall go in; and when they go forth, shall go forth,” he lifted his eyes with a deep holy rapture shining in all his face.
He closed his recitative with a ringing note of triumph in his voice, as he cried, “It shall be round about eighteen thousand cubits: and the name of the city from that day shall be Jehovah-Chammah”—“The Lord is there.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. The graver was still, the hand that held it might have been stone, so rigid did it become. The lips of Abraham Cohen moved, but no other sound came from him save the words “Jehovah was there,” and he prayed aloud.
In the midst of his rapt devotion the door of the workroom opened. The slight sound aroused the dreamer. He turned his face in the direction of the door, and his eyes flashed with pleasure.