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    Little human lily ! Meek flower unblown ! By the scythe of the Reaper of nations mown , In " the dew of thy youth" thus call'd on

    high—Was it better to bloom till that dew was dry ? But why , drooping blossom , ere life be fled , Do I number thee thus with the early dead ? 'Tis because the life-pulse of hope is low , And the grave of the snow-drop is dug in the snow .

    Even now , while I give thee a stranger's sigh , Thy father watches thy glazing eye : Even now , while I give thee a stranger ' s tear , Thy mother thinks of her baby ' s bier .

    Pass away , little spirit , and pass in peace ! Thy pleasures are done—let thy pains too cease ! How can we wish thee to drag in pain The few frail links of a breaking chain ? Part , little darling , in peace depart—Oh ! hadst thou my future , and I thy heart ! Part , little seraph , thy hour is come , And the Highest has call'd the pure one home .

    I ask'd , and I had , the leave to look On the last pale leaf of thy closing book ; 'Twas white as the whitest rose in the wreath , With a word like a shadow—the word was Death .

    I look'd in silence , and turn'd away , For I saw what I look'd on would soon be clay ; Quick were the pants of the labouring breast'Twas a motion that told of a long deep rest !

    And there she lay , with a gleam of blue Just shewing the half-open'd eyelids through , A moist , a vague , and a sleepy gleam , As if Death had come like a wildering dream .

    Our senses oft wander before we sleep , And then it falls , long , heavy , and deep ; And often thus the half-conscious soul Reels on the brink of the mortal goal .

    Is thy glad voice mute ? Thy bird yet sings , When the morning strikes on his wires and wings ; The rose loiters yet on the wintry tree—They are flowers for thy grave , but not for thee . But other birds shall sing where thou art , With no music that comes from a broken heart ; And flowers that blossom where no flowers die Shall gladden the meek young stranger ' eye .

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    LINES SUGGESTED BY SEEING AN INFANT ON ITS DEATH-BET ) .

• Citation
  • Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Jan. 2, 1831, page 45, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2593/page/45/