. Poems of religion and society. F CHILDREN. THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. Sure, to the mansions of the blestWhen infant innocence ascends, Some angel brighter than the restThe spotless spirits flight attends. On wings of ecstasy they rise, Beyond where worlds material roll Till some fair sister of the skiesReceives the unpolluted soul There, at the Almighty Fathers hand,Nearest the throne of living light, The choirs of infant seraphs stand,And dazzling shine, where all are bright. That inextinguishable beam, With dust united at our birth,Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam, The more it lingers upon e
. Poems of religion and society. F CHILDREN. THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. Sure, to the mansions of the blestWhen infant innocence ascends, Some angel brighter than the restThe spotless spirits flight attends. On wings of ecstasy they rise, Beyond where worlds material roll Till some fair sister of the skiesReceives the unpolluted soul There, at the Almighty Fathers hand,Nearest the throne of living light, The choirs of infant seraphs stand,And dazzling shine, where all are bright. That inextinguishable beam, With dust united at our birth,Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam, The more it lingers upon earth. THE DEATH OF CHILDREN. Closed in this dark abode of clay,The stream of glory faintly burns, Nor unobscured the lucid rayTo its own native fount returns. But when the Lord of mortal breathDecrees his bounty to resume. And points the silent shaft of death,Which speeds an infant to the tomb— No passion fierce, no low desire, Has quenched the radiance of the flame;Back to its God the living fire Returns unsullied, as it came. 60 WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. Lord of all worlds, let thanks and praise To thee forever fill my soul;With blessings thou hast crowned my days*— My heart, my head, my hand control:O, let no vain presumption rise, No impious murmur in my heart,To crave the boon thy will denies, Or shrink from ill thy hands impart. Thy child am I, and not an hour, Revolving in the orbs above,But brings some token of thy power, But brings some token of thy love:And shall this bosom dare repine, In darkness dare deny the dawn,Or spurn the treasures of the mine, Because one diamond is withdrawn ? The fool denies, the fool alone, Thy being, Lord, and boundless might, Denies the firmament, thy throne,Denies the suns meridian light; WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. 61 Denies the fashion of his frame, The voice he hears, the breath he draws;O idiot atheist! to proclaim Effects unnumbered without cause. Matter and mind, mysterious one, Are mans for threescore years and ten;W
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