Away with an angelic smile it has gone,
And left a sad parent to weep!
It soars from the ocean of pain,
On breezes of precious perfume;
O be not discouraged when death is but gain—
The triumph of life from the tomb.
With pleasure I thought it my own,
And smil'd on its infantile charms;
But some mystic bird, like an eagle, came down,
And snatch'd it away from my arms.
Blest Babe, it ascends into Heaven,
It mounts with delight at the call;
And flies to the bosom from whence it was given,
The Parent and Patron of all.
THE SLAVE'S COMPLAINT.
Am I sadly cast aside,
On misfortunes's rugged tide?
Will the world my pains deride
Forever?
Must I dwell in Slavery's night,
And all pleasure take its flight,
Far beyond my feeble sight,
Forever?
