I found this poem when reading this article from the American Life League about the History of Abortion. I thought I would share it.
"Upon My Dead Child"
O Thou, whose eyes were closed in Death's pale night,
Ere fate revealed thee to my aching sight.
Embryo, imperfect as my tortured thought;
Sad outcast of existence and of naught;
Thou, who to guilty love first owest thy frame,
Whom guilty honour killed to hide its shame;
Formed by love's too pleasing power!
Honour's dire victim in luckless hour!
Soften the pangs that still revenge thy doom;
Nor from the dark abyss of nature's womb,
When back I cast thee, let revolving time
Call up past scenes to aggravate my crime.
Two adverse tyrants ruled thy wayward fate,
Thyself a helpless victim in their hate;
Love, in spite of honour's dictates,
gave thee breath;
Honour, in spite of love, pronounced thy death.