1048
L. M.
On the death of an infant.
O mourner! who with tender love,
Hast wept beside some infant grave,
Hast thou not sought a Friend above,
Who died thy little one to save?
2 Then lift thy weary, weeping eye
Above the waves that round thee dwell;
Is not thy darling safe on high?
Canst thou not whisper—It is well?
3 Yes, it is well—though never more
His infant form to earth be given;
He rests where sin and grief are o’er,
And thou shalt meet thy child in heaven.