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Speaks for itself;—an Infant there doth rest,
The sheltering Hillock is the Mother's grave.
If mild discourse, and manners that conferred
A natural dignity on humblest rank;
If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks,
That for a face not beautiful did more
Than beauty for the fairest face can do;
And if religious tenderness of heart,
Grieving for sin, and penitential tears
Shed when the clouds had gathered and distained
The spotless ether of a maiden life;
If these may make a hallowed spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or Man;
Then, on that mold, a sanctity shall brood,
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom.
Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless Man,
Could field or grove, or any spot of earth,
Shew to his eye an image of the pangs
Which it hath witnessed, render back an echo
Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave,
Yea, doubtless, on the turf that roofs her own,
