The Ghetto-Jew

I MARKED in the midst of the glittering throng

A figure all bent and retreating;

His raiment was shabby, and bearded his face,

His gaze was bewildering and fleeting;

And those whose drossiness glared through the gilt

Guffawed a contemptuous greeting.

Intently I peered in his time lined face

And read there his marvellous story;

His brows were large with the wisdom of pain,

His locks by affliction made hoary;

A memory lurked in the depth of his eyes,

A prayer and a vision of glory.

A mem’ry aglow with the splendors of old,

A prayer of patience and yearning,

And a vision of Home that gleamed in the dark,

Through ages of weary sojourning;

Yet they of the gilded and glittering throng

Had naught but derision and spurning.

He folded a dream to his quivering heart

And nursed it through vigils of ages;

He gave it the blood of his life to absorb

Yet mockery now is his wages.

Shall this be the word his story to close,

A jeer be the last of its pages?