| Joseph Friedlander, comp. The Standard Book of Jewish Verse. 1917. | | | | God’s Chosen People | | Adapted by Joel Blau |
| | | IN the sadness of your eyes | |
| I see the grief of ages; | |
| Your voices throb | |
| With the sob | |
| Of hearts forever still. | 5 |
| Yet yours the soul of sages— | |
| You are alive, | |
| Tho’ nations strive | |
| Your cup of pain to fill: | |
| |
| Yet you call yourselves God’s Chosen People, | 10 |
| Yet you humbly bow to God’s Great Will. | |
| |
| In your tills you hoard your gold, | |
| In dread of gloomy morrow; | |
| In fear of fire, | |
| Tyrant’s ire, | 15 |
| And sword of those who spill | |
| Your blood, and bring you sorrow! | |
| A hunted race, | |
| Fell fate you face, | |
| When foes are out to kill: | 20 |
| |
| Yet you call yourselves God’s Chosen People, | |
| Yet you humbly bow to God’s Great Will. | |
| |
| On this soil of Man’s free rights, | |
| I would not have your riches! | |
| Your pomp and pride, | 25 |
| None can bide. | |
| Your wives in flounce and frill, | |
| Their Eastern charm bewitches… | |
| And yet my breast, | |
| Remains at rest, | 30 |
| Nor does with envy thrill: | |
| |
| But oh! teach me your faith, you strange people, | |
| Teach me to humbly bow to God’s Great Will. | | | | |
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