Classic Poem

Why, Lord! dost thou our race despise,
And spurn our feeble band?
Behold our foes in triumph rise,
And overrun the land!

As helpless sheep to slaughter led,
We fall before their might,
We're sold like beasts, cast out as dead,
And worthless in their sight.

We're fill'd with sorrow, cloth'd with shame,
And loaded with disgrace;
For all the world our cause defame,
And spurn us from their face.

Bow'd down to earth, in dust we lie,
With none to help or save;
Rise, Lord! make haste, fly, quickly fly,
And free the wretched slave.