and Mrs. S----, On the Death of an Infant.
The fairest flow'r that blooms on earth,
And charms the gazer's eye,
Is first to lose its brilliant hues,
And fade away and die.
Soft it unfolds its petals rare,
To gentle dew and sun,
But come one blast of chilling air,
And all its beauty's gone.
E'en so is life; the glow of health
That warms the youthful cheek,
Seems to invite the tyrant Death,
His helpless prey to seek.
Thy little babe scarce 'woke to life,
And promised fair to bloom,
Ere cruel Death his victim seiz'd,
And bore it to the tomb.
We fondly watch'd with anxious eye,
For Hope had promise giv'n;
And little deem'd that passing sigh,
Had borne his soul to heav'n.
Calm as the breath of summer eve,
On flow'r and foliage shed,
And pure as midnight's heav'nly dew,
His gentle spirit fled.
Then let not grief for him abide
Within a parent's breast,
For while his flesh returns to dust,
His soul's with God at rest.
When we from earth are call'd away;
By God's own summons giv'n,
May we as tranquilly depart,
And be as sure of heav'n.
The Spirits of the Dead.
"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister unto
them who shall be heirs of salvation?"
Some say the spirits of the dead,
Are hovering o'er our way;
At night they watch around our bed,
And guard our steps by day.
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