It seemed some types of Jewish dog escaped the flaming synagogue,
And their ingratitude was base. They joined to form a wailing-place.
I heard them as I roamed among blind alleys dark and overhung
By one-eyed dens. With whining nose against the wall the pack gave tongue:
Behold Thy people, Lord, a race of mourners.
Through this Thy sacred dwelling-place they creep
Like strangers. Hearken, Lord, in holes and corners
We sit alone and weep.
For Thy decree, most terrible and holy,
That as the fathers sow the sons shall reap,