Within the church two companies are met.
The one is sad and bears an infant's bier,
A woman following; slow steals the tear
On her pale cheek, where grief his mark has set.
The other, a baptism. Protecting arm
Held close, a nurse upbears the precious mite;
Comes the young mother, whose proud looks invite
Praise and allegiance to her baby's charm.
They christen, they absolve; the chapels clear.
Then the two women, crossing in the aisle,
Exchange a single glance at joining there;
And--wondrous mystery to inspire a prayer--
The young wife weeps in gazing on the bier,
The mourner throws the newborn child a smite!