Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/On the death of an infant
For works with similar titles, see On the Death of an Infant.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Sweet babe! too quickly snatched from our embrace,
O, is indeed thy gentle spirit flown?
O, linger yet with us a short, short space!
'T is vain! so soon thou hasten'st to be gone.
O, is indeed thy gentle spirit flown?
O, linger yet with us a short, short space!
'T is vain! so soon thou hasten'st to be gone.
Whither, bright cherub, hast thou winged thy flight,
And left us all so soon that flight to mourn?
While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight,
Departed, never, never to return.
And left us all so soon that flight to mourn?
While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight,
Departed, never, never to return.
What fairy visions Hope's swift pencil drew
Of future joys thy presence was to bring!
Thou camest, but, ere yet our welcome knew,
To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing.
Of future joys thy presence was to bring!
Thou camest, but, ere yet our welcome knew,
To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing.
Yes, for ourselves we yet may heave the sigh;
O, not for thee! who bade adieu to, earth
So early, called to yon bright sphere on high,
An angel from the moment of thy birth.
O, not for thee! who bade adieu to, earth
So early, called to yon bright sphere on high,
An angel from the moment of thy birth.
Brightly arrayed in innocence divine,
And spotless robes, O, could we see thee now!
Great as our loss, we never should repine,
Nor one fond wish recall thee here below.
And spotless robes, O, could we see thee now!
Great as our loss, we never should repine,
Nor one fond wish recall thee here below.