70 Generations

Out of Ur by the river, where the tall towers stood, A tent and a promise and a staff of olive wood. Up the Euphrates, Harran on the plain, Then south into Canaan with the dust and the rain. Down to Egypt in the hunger years, Bricks and straw and a river of tears. Through the sea and the Sinai sand, Forty years walking to the edge of the land. Seventy generations on a long, long road, Every mother’s lullaby, every heavy load. From the river to the Rhine to the far southern sea, Every footstep that they took is still walking in me. Seventy generations, and the candle’s still lit, We carried it in our pockets, and we never let it quit. Fire on the hill in Jerusalem town, Rome took the lamp and the walls came down. Ships out of Jaffa when the summer winds blew, Italy, the Alps, and the Rhine valley too. Mainz and Worms by the cold grey stream, A language was born out of half a dream. The plague bells rang and the mobs came near, We loaded up the carts and we pointed east from here. Seventy generations on a long, long road, Every mother’s lullaby, every heavy load. From the river to the Rhine to the far southern sea, Every footstep that they took is still walking in me. Wooden houses in the snow, Vilkomir and Dvinsk, A blacksmith’s hammer ringing, and a hat maker’s ink. A Warsaw shop, a Swiss village, a shoemaker’s last, A thousand years are folding like a telescope cast… Time is just a river, and the river’s in my veins, I can hear the wagon wheels, I can hear the trains. Ur… Babylon… Rome… the Rhine… Libau… London… the southern line… Steamship out of Libau, the North Sea black, Down from Southampton with no way back. Cape Town harbour and the mountain’s crown, A train across the Karoo to the gold-dust town. They met on the Highveld, two roads became one, Lit Friday candles in the African sun. Then one more journey, one more airport gate, Now Atlanta porches and a Georgia state. Seventy generations on a long, long road, Every mother’s lullaby, every heavy load. From the river to the Rhine to the far southern sea, Every footstep that they took is still walking in me. Seventy generations, and the candle’s still lit, We carried it in our pockets, and we never let it quit. Now I hand it to you, little one, hold it to the light, Seventy generations, and you’re the next one tonight.