ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Sweet child, and hast thou gone, forever fled?
Low lies thy body in its grassy bed;
But thy freed soul swift bends its flight through air,
Thy heavenly Father's gracious love to share.
Low lies thy body in its grassy bed;
But thy freed soul swift bends its flight through air,
Thy heavenly Father's gracious love to share.
And now, methinks, I see thee clothed in white,
Mingling with saints, like thee, celestial bright.
Look down, sweet angel, on thy friends below,
And mark their trickling tears of silent woe.
Mingling with saints, like thee, celestial bright.
Look down, sweet angel, on thy friends below,
And mark their trickling tears of silent woe.
Look down with pity in thy infant eye,
And view the friends thou left, for friends on high.
Methinks I see thee leaning from above,
To whisper, to those friends, of peace and love:
And view the friends thou left, for friends on high.
Methinks I see thee leaning from above,
To whisper, to those friends, of peace and love:
"Weep not for me, for I am happy still,
And murmur not at our great Father's will;
Let not this blow your trust in Jesus shake,
Our Saviour gave, and it is his to take,
And murmur not at our great Father's will;
Let not this blow your trust in Jesus shake,
Our Saviour gave, and it is his to take,
"Once you looked forward to life's opening day,
The scene was bright, and pleasant seemed the way;
Hope drew the picture, Fancy, ever near,
Colored it bright—'tis blotted with a tear.
The scene was bright, and pleasant seemed the way;
Hope drew the picture, Fancy, ever near,
Colored it bright—'tis blotted with a tear.
