Lines to a Sister, on the death of her Infant

Lines to a Sister, on the death of her Infant

Nature's great debt is paid - her spirit's fled,
Thy playful Mary's numbered with the dead:
Why starts that tear? why, sister, why repine?
Why murmur at thy Master's will divine?

"She sip'd but lightly of life's bitter cup,
Refused to drink the unsavory portion up,"
With resignation calm, she turn'd aside,
Disgusted with the nauseous taste - and died.

She's gone! - but whither? to her God above!
She's flown to mansions of eternal love,
She's chang'd this world of vanity and night,
For those of endless pleasure and delight.

Dear Sister, dry thy tear bedewed eyes,
Suppress thy fruitless bosom-rending sighs,
Let from thy heart, unholiness be driven,
Then thou shalt meet thy lovely babe in Heaven.

E.

1:45, p. 180

1828.02.01