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Jews, as every one admits, Are all you say, Rabinowitz: The noblest and the best of races, Whose kindly hearts belie their faces. They've made in music, art, and letters The nations of the world their debtors; Who can deny it, when they own A Heine and a Mendelssohn; Or, in the realm of thought and prose, a Colossal genius like Spinoza; Nay—proudest boast of all their nation— Freemantle as a blood relation?

Then in the Law their work we see: The Sabbath and the I.D.B.; In politics, who greater than Their Beaconsfield or Lieberman? They'd give the warlike Togo tips In floating mines and sinking ships; In fact, there are not any flies Upon their business enterprise.

All this, my dear Rabinowitz, The world, as I have said, admits; In metaphor to state their worth, "The salt," I'll call them, "of the earth." Of this same salt I'd like to tell A useful little parable.