I'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam,
Something akin, methinks, to Abraham,
And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash,
Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash.
Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew!
Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few:
A few in numbers but a mighty host
When reckoned by the things that count the most,—
I mean achievements, won by toilsome stages
In spite of persecutions thru the Ages.