Our God, to call us homeward,
His only Son sent down;
And now, still more to tempt our hearts,
Has taken up our own.
ON THE TOMBSTONE OF A CHILD BLIND FROM BIRTH.
There shall be no night there.
ON A CHILD FOUR YEARS OLD, WHO WAS BURNED TO DEATH.
“O!”
Says the gardener, as he passes down the walk,
“Who destroyed that flower? Who plucked that plant?”