MRS. FRY AT NEWGATE PRISON. 309
Since first these rugged walls were heaved
From their foundations strong ; Guilt, with its seared and blackened breast,
Fierce Hate, with sullen glare, And Justice, smiting unto death,
And desolate Despair.
Here, Crime hath spread a loathsome snare
For souls of lighter stain, And Shame hath cowered, and Anguish drained
The darkest dregs of pain, And Punishment its doom hath dealt,
Relentless as the grave, And spurned the sinful fellow-worm,
Whom Jesus died to save.
Ah ! there they are, the fallen so low,
Who bear our weaker form, Whose rude and haggard features tell
Of passion s wrecking storm ; See, how on ring or trinket gay
Are bent their eager eyes, As though by habitude constrained
To seize the unlawful prize.
Yet be not strict their faults to mark,
Nor hasty to condemn, Oh thou, whose erring human heart
May not have swerved like them ; But with the tear-drop on thy cheek
Adore that guardian Power,
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