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To pity dead—the Oppressor and the Oppressed;
Tyrants who utter the destroying word,
And Slaves who will consent to be destroyed;
Were of one species with the sheltered few,
Who with a dutiful and tender hand
Did lodge, in an appropriated spot,
This file of Infants; some that never breathed
The vital air; and others, who, allowed
That privilege, did yet expire too soon,
Or with too brief a warning, to admit
Administration of the holy rite
That lovingly consigns the Babe to the arms
Of Jesus, and his everlasting care.
These that in trembling hope are laid apart:
And the besprinkled Nursling, unrequired
Till he begins to smile upon the breast
That feeds him; and the tottering Little-one
Taken from air and sunshine when the rose
Of Infancy first blooms upon his cheek;
The thinking, thoughtless School-boy; the bold Youth
Of soul impetuous, and the bashful Maid
Smitten while all the promises of life
Are opening round her; those of middle age,
