On Seeing an Infant's Grave
(In Patrick's Memorial Cemetery)
By Nathan Williams
A child in birth began his way
To a tomb that hides his soul
In the darkness of yesterday
On the path to growing old
A child now silent; an infant's wreath
A child without a will of way
Heaven's hand had stayed his breath
To keep him for another age
Just an infant of the morn
Who lived, who perished, who softly cried
Old enough when he was born
To feel the pain of those who die.
