mm 
‘2(>G 
Ah! no, — the blow thy hopes which cross’d, 
To him was sent in love; 
For whilst to thee a child is lost. 
Another seraph swells the host 
Of glorified above; 
Then calmly dust to dust resign, 
Since gone the gem’t was wont to shrine. 
And let us strew his cradle bed 
With fragrant flowers and fair; 
Flowers that beseem the early dead, 
Such as do soonest bloom and lade — 
The firstlings of the year ; 
And when we lay him in his grave, 
Let the sad cypress o’er him wave. 
The cypress ?—nay, that were to throw 
On faith and hope a stain, 
By Christian gra\ e ne’er should it grow, 
For is’t not said, if once laid low 
It never springs again ? 
Whilst, to thy babe, the dying strife 
But usher’d in undying life. 
*—i 
mmm 
