Death of an infant.

WE lay thee in the silent tomb, Sweet blossom of the day; We just began to view thy bloom, When thou wert call'd away.

Friendship and love have done their last, And now can do no more; The bitterness of death is past, And all thy sufferings o'er.

Thy gentle Spirit passed away, 'Mid pain the most severe; So great we could not wish thy stay, A moment longer here.

Oh, who could wish thy longer stay, In such a world as this; Since thou hast gain'd the realms of day. And pure, undying bliss?