On my youngest Daughter, died 20th March 1845, aged twenty-one months.
She rests within her little grave,
A bud of promise too soon taken,
And wanting the sweet smile she gave,
We deem ourselves as if forsaken.
Life wore for her no luring guise,
She tasted time, and found it dreary,
Calmly she closed her gentle eyes,
As one that falls asleep aweary:
Like to a star whose little ray