It Is A Common Phenomenon That Just

Jews Who Long Have Drifted From The Faith Of Their Fathers... Are Stirred In Their Inmost Parts When The Old, Familiar Passover Sounds Chance To Fall Upon Their Ears.

It Is Only Kindred Griefs That Draw Forth Our Tears, And Each Weeps Really For Himself.

Ask Me Not What I Have, But What I Am.

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

Oh Fair, Oh Sweet And Holy As Dew At Morning Tide, I Gaze On Thee, And Yearnings, Sad In My Bosom Hide.