Joys Impregnate. Sorrows Bring Forth.

O Autumn, Laden With Fruit, And Stained With The Blood Of The Grape, Pass Not, But Sit Beneath My Shady Roof; There Thou May'st Rest, And Tune Thy Jolly Voice To My Fresh Pipe; And All The Daughters Of The Year Shall Dance! Sing Now The Lusty Song Of Fruit And Flowers.

But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlots Curse Blasts The New-born Infants Tear And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse

My Brother Starv'd Between Two Walls,his Children's Cry My Soul Appalls

More! More! Is The Cry Of A Mistaken Soul.

For Mercy Has A Human Heart Pity, A Human Face: And Love, The Human Form Divine, And Peace, The Human Dress.