On the Death of an Infant

Sweet child, and hast thou gone, for ever 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.

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.

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.

"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.

"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,
Coloured it bright —'t is blotted with a tear.

"Then let that tear be Resignation's child;
Yielding to Heaven's high will, be calm, be mild;
Weep for your child no more, she's happy still,
And murmur not at your great Father's will."