Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/180

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Bethink thee of thy cradle-hours, and of a mother's prayer, Who nightly laid her cheek to thine, with guardian angel's care, And, for her sake, propitiate Him who shields the sinner's head, And take repentance to thy breast, ere thou art of the dead.

There's yet a moment. To his ear reveal thy hidden pain, Give passage to one suppliant sigh—one prayer—in vain, in vain. Look, look to Him, whose mercy heard the dying felon's sigh, Say, "Jesus save me!" who can tell but he will heed thy cry.

A shuddering horror shakes the crowd, young eyes are veiled in dread, Affrighted childhood wails aloud, and veterans bow the head, For guilt unhumbled, unannealed, hath felt the avenger's rod, And sped, with falsehood's sullen front, to dare the glance of God.