ALL holy influences dwell within The breast of Childhood: instincts fresh from God   Inspire it, ere the heart beneath the rod Of grief hath bled, or caught the plague of sin. How mighty was that fervour which could win   Its way to infant souls!—and was the sod   Of Palestine by infant Croises trod? Like Joseph went they forth, or Benjamin, In all their touching beauty to redeem?   And did their soft lips kiss the Sepulchre? Alas! the lovely pageant as a dream   Faded! They sank not through ignoble fear; They felt not Moslem steel. By mountain, stream,   In sands, in fens, they died—no mother near!