ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Come ye in holy fear,
Around our loved one's tranquil rest to bend;
While faith's sustaining tones to heaven ascend,
Draw ye in silence near:
She sleeps in death's unwakening slumber there,—
Death, coldly, calmly, beautifully fair.
Around our loved one's tranquil rest to bend;
While faith's sustaining tones to heaven ascend,
Draw ye in silence near:
She sleeps in death's unwakening slumber there,—
Death, coldly, calmly, beautifully fair.
Look on the marble brow,
Whose Parian pureness speaks her early doom,
A holy flower on heaven's bright shores to bloom.
In sacred silence now,
Never earth's fitful, feverish glare to know,
The soft-fringed lid is closed on mortal wo.
Whose Parian pureness speaks her early doom,
A holy flower on heaven's bright shores to bloom.
In sacred silence now,
Never earth's fitful, feverish glare to know,
The soft-fringed lid is closed on mortal wo.
Yet come in trusting love:
Pure as it was, the spirit fled that shrine,
To quench its sacred thirst at springs divine.
She, in the courts above,
In uncreated light and glory dwells,
And there the song of holy rapture swells.
Pure as it was, the spirit fled that shrine,
To quench its sacred thirst at springs divine.
She, in the courts above,
In uncreated light and glory dwells,
And there the song of holy rapture swells.
Is it not well with those,
Those whom on earth the heavenly Master blessed?—
The early-called to heaven's eternal rest?
Pledge of her sure repose
Is the sweet rest our loved one seems to keep,
Calmly, as hushed in nature's tranquil sleep.
Those whom on earth the heavenly Master blessed?—
The early-called to heaven's eternal rest?
Pledge of her sure repose
Is the sweet rest our loved one seems to keep,
Calmly, as hushed in nature's tranquil sleep.
Has she not won it all?
Unbowed by sorrow, and unstained by sin,
Is it not hers the glorious meed to win?
Would we that soul recall,
And bid the rushing tide of nature shed
Its living glow o'er that young, sinless head?
Unbowed by sorrow, and unstained by sin,
Is it not hers the glorious meed to win?
Would we that soul recall,
And bid the rushing tide of nature shed
Its living glow o'er that young, sinless head?
Let nature mourn that she
No more may turn on us that death-sealed eye;
Faith's ardent gaze can pierce the clouded sky.
Source of our trust! to Thee
In holy confidence the dust we give:
Thy thrilling voice can bid the slumberer live.
No more may turn on us that death-sealed eye;
Faith's ardent gaze can pierce the clouded sky.
Source of our trust! to Thee
In holy confidence the dust we give:
Thy thrilling voice can bid the slumberer live.
Does she not live in heaven?
What mortal eye could view the angelic band
That led the ransomed to the promised land?
To heavenly harps was given
The strain which bade her welcome to the shore
Where the freed soul can taste of death no more.
What mortal eye could view the angelic band
That led the ransomed to the promised land?
To heavenly harps was given
The strain which bade her welcome to the shore
Where the freed soul can taste of death no more.