How vain, alas! was all thy father's art,
Vain were the sighs which swell'd thy mother's heart.
Again I see thee just expiring lie,
Pale thy cold lip, half clos'd thy languid eye,
Thy guardian Innocence beside thee stands,
And patient Faith uplifts her holy hands,
Teach thee with smiles to meet the stroke of Death,
Calm all thy pangs, and ease thy struggling breath.