EPITAPH.
The following lines were written by my father, on the death of his first child, who died in infancy:—W.H.H.
Nipt in the bud, the father's hope here sleeps,
And o'er her first-born child the mother weeps.
Why weep! the disencumber'd soul that's flown
Now shines another cherub round the throne!
Ah! who can tell what cares, what hopes, what fears,
Had been the portion of its lengthen'd years?
A better lot proportion'd Heaven design'd,
And bade it leave this sin-fraught world behind!