Cold craft and avarice look from out his eyes,
His face with evil passion marred and seamed,
Looks frowningly upon a Christian world.
Behind that hateful mask a demon lurks
To urge the narrow soul to darksome deeds
Of violence and greed, of hate and ruth.
His God, a God of wrath, a tyrant force
To mete to helpless souls eternal doom;
A Juggernaut, a hard unsentient power,—
But yet less potent than the yellow gold
Those crooked talons clutch, and for the which
The miser Shylock fain would sell his soul.