Elizabeth, the Infant Angel

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Ascended, dearly loved, in life's young bud;
  Too fair, too sweet, 'mid earth's rude blasts to stay,
Safe in the bosom of thy Father, God,
  Bright, beauteous infant, from thy cumbering clay
So soon escaped, its happy heavenward way
  Thy soul hath taken. Like the light of morn,
Thou didst shed on us one fair passing ray,
  Then to thy glorious Source, though, babe, wast borne.

Dear infant angel, safe in joy and God!
  Babe of fair promise, child of fondest prayer!
Hail, rescued spirit! painful is the rod;
  But never will we mourn that thou art there.
Bright gem, we would not tear thee from thy crown,
  Nor bid thy harp, sweet seraph, silent lie;
Stay in thy mansion, infant, still our own,
  Never to grieve again, or fear, or die.

Short was thy pilgrim path, a sunny hour;
  Life was to thee too sweet a boon to last.
What joy it gave thee, gentle morning flower!
  How soon the glorious pageant o'er thee passed!
Passed! Yes, from earth,—but fairer life is thine;
  The vale of death thy little foot hath trod;
And now in life immortal thou dost shine,
  Dear infant, in the paradise of God.

March 24, 1842