TREMBLING old men are stamm'ring Scarce can their anguish tell— Whisp'ring the ancient Hebrew, The "Hear, O Israel!" Some little Jew is falling, Clubbed in his narrow pale— The Queen is singing sweetly Songs of the Nightingale. Watchmen are growing fretful, Why should they longer wait? Hurry the homeless wanderers Through the next dark suffering-gate. What though anchors are lifted, What though poor exiles flee— Carmen Sylva is warbling An Ode to Humanity. |