Where the author was born and his father's remains are laid.
A point of life between my parents' dust
And yours, my buried little ones! am I;
And to those graves looking habitually,
In kindred quiet I repose my trust.
Death to the innocent is more than just,
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent;
So may I hope, if truly I repent
And meekly bear the ills which bear I must:
And you, my offspring! that do still remain,
Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race,
If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain
"We breathed together for a moment's space,
The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign,
And only love keep in your hearts a place.