And thinks how oft those eyelids smiled,
Whose close she may not see,
And says, "Oh, would to God, my child,
I might have died for thee!"
Such law of bloodshed to annul
Should be the Christian’s toil;
May not such law be merciful,
To that upon our soil?
Better the infant eyes should close
Upon the first sweet breath,
Than weary for their last repose,
A living life in death!
Look on the children of our poor,
On many an English child:
Better that it had died secure
By yonder river wild.
Flung careless on the waves of life,
From childhood’s earliest time,
They struggle, one perpetual strife,
With hunger and with crime.
Look on the crowded prison-gate—
Instructive love and care
In early life had saved the fate
That waits on many there.
Cold, selfish, shunning care and cost,
The poor are left unknown;
I say, for every soul thus lost,
We answer with our own.
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