Poems on several occasions | ||
180
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
How blest is he whom Nature's gentle handHas snatch'd from human life and human woes,
Ev'n in his childish days, ere yet he knew
Or sin, or pain, or youthful passion's force!
In Earth's soft lap, beneath the flowery turf,
His peaceful ashes sleep; to Heaven ascends
Th'unspotted soul, declar'd by voice divine
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Thou drooping parent, nor bewail him lost—
In life's first bloom, when infant reason dawn'd,
And the young mind, unfolding every power,
Gave promise fair of manhood, transport fill'd
The mother's bosom, pondering every word
And action there. She now lamenting loud
Deplores him, from her vain embraces torn
By unrelenting fate, and fierce disease;
Like eastern storms that blast the opening year.
Poems on several occasions | ||