Drummings on an Empty Skull

This is the word that Jacob Meeting his death in Egypt Laid on the brow of Judah, Lion of all the earth: “Nations shall bow before thee, “All of thy brothers shall praise thee, “Fruit on thy boughs shall blossom, “Tribes from thy loins have birth.”

Sing-song chants from the ghettoes, Tell of a thin limbed people, Crowded into their hovels, Rats who blink at the sun— Where is thy heritage, Judah? Lost in the mists of ages. These are a bastard motley, Ghosts of a race long run.

Robert E. Howard