A protest from all classes in the land
From low and high, from peasant and from peer,
Goes forth to plead with the despotic power
That 'neath brute persecution's iron heel
Would trample out my brethren's life. So, there,
Which way I look I meet a greeting hand.
So, not repeating here the vengeful plot
Of the old Shylock of the play; without
My pound of flesh or pound of anything,—
But solely for the bond of brotherhood