Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/100

Rh He 's doomed. Dead! Dead! A judgment ! Make way there ! Air ! Cany him forth ! He 's warm ! Nay, his heart 's stopped — his breath has ceased — quite dead. Didst mark a diamond lance flash from the roof, And strike him 'twixt the eyes ? Our days are numbered. This is the token.