582. L. M. Epis. Coll.
Death of an Infant.
1As 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.
2It died ere its expanding soul
Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Had ever spurned at Heaven's control,
Or ever quenched its sacred fires.
3Yet 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.
4He 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.