Death of an Infant.
1 As the sweet flower that scents the morn,
But withers in the rising day,
Thus lovely was this infant's dawn,
Thus swiftly fled its life away.
2 It died ere its expanding soul
Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Had ever spurned at Heaven's control,
Or ever quenched its sacred fires.
3 Yet the sad hour that took the boy
Perhaps has spared a heavier doom,--
Snatched him from scenes of guilty joy,
Or from the pangs of ills to come.
4 He died to sin; he died to care;
But for a moment felt the rod;
Then, rising on the viewless air,
Spread his light wings, and soared to God.