Kneel, dash thyself upon the senseless ground,
Writhe as the worm writhes with dividing wound,
Invoke the heaven that knows thy sorrow’s truth,
By all the softening memories of youth—
By every hope that cheered thine earlier day—
By every tear that washes wrath away—
By every old remembrance long gone by—
By every pang that makes thee yearn to die;
And learn at length how deep and stern a blow
Near hands can strike, and yet no pity show!