The Virginia Gazette

Verses wrote by a Gentleman just before his going to Prison, on seeing his Child asleep in its Cradle.

OFT Babe! sweet Image of a harmless Mind!
How calm that Sleep, which Innocence enjoys.
The smiling Check thou in thy Slumber wear'st,
Is Nature's Language for a gentle Heart;
It says, all's Peace within: It is thy Right;
'Tis the blest Privilege of thy tender Age
To wake, or sleep in Peace; to know no Fears,
To dread no Ill, to smile on Friend and Foe.
What moral Lesson does thy Slumber teach?
This Preaching strikes, and mends a faulty Heart,
Come here, ye Guilty; for it speaks to you;
Tells what you lost, and what you'll ne'er regain:
Where dwells the Pow'r a wounded Mind to heal;
Attend, ye Misers; all your Wealth can't bribe
This Slumber to your Bed: Unbrib'd it drops
The downy Wing upon this Infant-Brow.
Listen, ye Heroes, Kings, or higher Names,
(If such there be) calm Minds with coolest Thought
To Murder train'd, such peaceful Hours taste?
Sleep like that Babe, and I'll unsheath my Sword.
Could gazing catch that Look of cordial Peace,
My ardent Eye I'd fix to pluck it thence,
And plant it in my Breast. -In vain that Thought:
Heaven this Bliss to sinful Man denies;
Tis Virtue's Crown; and ev'n an Angel's Wealth.
Sleep on, mild Infant; Sleep, and never know
What thy fond Parent feels; now feels for thee,
Though thou feel'st nothing. - May kind Heaven grant
Thou never wake again: How sweet to pass
From Earth to Heaven on so soft a Wing!
Those Looks would fix a Smile on Death's pale Cheek.
I must away; relentless Law compels;
I'll take thee too: Thou in a Cell can't sleep,
And play within the Horrors of a Jail.
Thy Father sleeps no more. What then I'll watch
Thy sleeping Hours; and when thou smil'st, I'll smile,
Smile ev'n in Misery; wipe my streaming Eye,
Then smile again: Will Law forbid me this?
Thy Mother in her peaceful Tomb is laid
Silent her Griefs, which fretted Life away.
At Sight of thee her tender Heart would bleed;
It bled for other's Woes; for thine't would stream.
In happy Time her Soul to him is fled,
Whose Blood for those, who Mercy lov'd was spilt,
Thou know'st, my God, by thy great Pattern taught,
I never turn'd my Eye, nor shut my Heart
From any Wretch that walk'd this Earth in Pain.
When thy rich Blessings on my Head were pour'd.
Thou led'st my Heart (since Goodness comes from thee)
To seek out Misery in her darkest Path
And to my utmost every Wound to heal.
My Faith is firm; in this thy trying Hand
My Hope breathes fresh. Some virtuous Mind thou'lt touch,
(Though few below thy glorious Image wear,
To Riot most, or Vanity enslaved)
Then guide him to my Cell: My Chains he'll break,
And Light to me, and to this Babe restore.

G. R.