Classic Poem

At last ye got him; there he swings
Above the howling people-kings.
At last ye got him; he outstood
In innocence and hardihood
The servile court, the madman's knife,
The wreck of name and home and wife,
Still trusting God would see him through.
At last ye got him in the night,
Sick, wounded, worn, and strangely white—
Your burgher, Leo Frank, the Jew.

Ye hanged him on the gallows-tree.
He'll hang for all the years to be;
Ye nor your children shall have power
To take him down a single hour;
Nor wind, nor rain, nor bird of prey,
Shall eat that awful Form away,
Nor God once veil it from your view:
For 'tis no human head and limb—
Ye hanged God's Justice, hanging him,
Your burgher, Leo Frank, the Jew.