IN the sadness of your eyes I see the grief of ages; Your voices throb With the sob Of hearts forever still. Yet yours the soul of sages— You are alive, Tho' nations strive Your cup of pain to fill: @3Yet you call yourselves God's Chosen People, Yet you humbly bow to God's Great Will@1. In your tills you hoard your gold, In dread of gloomy morrow; In fear of fire, Tyrant's ire, And sword of those who spill Your blood, and bring you sorrow! A hunted race, Fell fate you face, When foes are out to kill: @3Yet you call yourselves God's Chosen People, Yet you humbly bow to God's Great Will@1. On this soil of Man's free rights, I would not have your riches! Your pomp and pride, None can bide. Your wives in flounce and frill, Their Eastern charm bewitches ... And yet my breast, Remains at rest, Nor does with envy thrill: @3But oh! teach me your faith, you strange people, Teach me to humbly bow to God's Great Will@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES by FRANCOIS VILLON HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX by ROBERT BROWNING IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: PROEM by ALFRED TENNYSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 3. TO THE CUCKOO by MARK AKENSIDE PRESCIENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A DIALOGUE (TO BE SUNG TO THE VIOL, BY A BASE, AND A TREBLE) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT IN MY LADY'S PRAISE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE WHOM EARTH HAS TAUGHT: REVELATION by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS |