9. The townsman spits at their garments, the shepherd quits his flock, the peasant his plough, to pelt with curses and stones; the villager sets on their trail his yelping cur.
10. Oh, the weary march! oh, the uptorn roots of home! oh, the blankness of the receding goal!
11. Listen to their lamentations. They that ate dainty food are desolate in the streets; they were reared in scarlet embrace dunghills. They flee away and wander about. Men say among the nations, They shall no more sojourn there; our end is near, our days are full, our doom is come. (Lam. 4. 5, 15, 18.)
12. Whither shall they turn? for the West hath cast them out, and the East refuseth to receive.
EMMA LAZARUS, 1883.
A SONG OF REDEMPTION
SURELY a limit boundeth every woe,
But mine enduring anguish hath no end;
My grievous years are spent in ceaseless flow,