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A world there is where thou shalt never weep,
It brightly gleams o'er Jordan's troubled flood;
A land where vice shall feel the avenger's rod,
And virtue's sons in faith behold their God.
ON AN INFANT,
WHOSE COUNTENANCE DISCOVERED UNCOMMON TRACES OF THOUGHT.
SAY, on that brow with beauty fraught,
What hand has mark'd so deep a trace,
And given that cast of pensive thought,
To what might seem an angel's face?
Parental care supplies thy want,
Fulfills each wish thy soul can form,
And spares no art to shield the plant
Of promise from the adverse storm.
No grief has given thy sigh to flow,
Nor has for guilt thy bosom bled;
And thou hast never paid to woe
The tear that love for thee has shed.
