Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/99

82 The world belongs to man; dreams the poor brute Some nook has been apportioned for brute life ? Where shall a man escape men's cruelty ? Where shall Grod's servant cower from his doom ? Let us bide, brethren — we are in His hand.

Ah! Woe unto Israel ! Lo, I see again, As the Ineffable foretold. I see A flood of Are that streams towards the town. Look, the destroying Angel with the sword, Wherefrom the drops of gaU are raining down, Broad-winged, comes flying towards you. Now he draws His lightning-glittering blade ! With the keen edge He smiteth Israel — ah ! Father! My father! Let me go down to him !

Sweet girl, be patient. This is the House of Grod, and He hath entered. Bow we and pray.