Oscar Cohen

OH, that death should lay thee low,

With thy fame not zenith high!—

Ah, the pity that the foe

Should have thought thee ripe to die!

Like the greatest one of old—

Moses, strong of heart and hand—

Thou hast led thy wandering fold

Onward to the promised land.

Stranger to thy creed and race,

Alien to the older Word,

Yet I loved thee! On thy face

Shone the glory of the Lord.