Merchant | ||
Comfort to an afflicted Father upon the Death of his only Child, who died thro' bad Nursing.
I
What tho' he dies, to Heav'n he flies,Now Glory's his Abode.
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To quarrel with their God.
II
With Faith's Views look on God, who tookHim from a Breast that fed ill:
He makes him Streams of Life to suck,
And Abraham's Breast's the Cradle.
III
Instead of Balow sung to him,The Child Te Deum sings.
He's swaddled in a Saviour's Robes,
His Blankets Angels Wings.
IV
What's Acres dull Inheritance,Or Money which doth rot,
He wisely flew to Heaven at once,
And there a Kingdom got.
V
O foolish Father! do you weepTo lose an Heir to Pelf?
And now, because you want a Child,
You'll turn a Child yourself.
Merchant | ||