[From Poems; by Rev Robert Brown, 1826]


DEAR innocent! how soon didst thou
Far from this world of trouble fly!
How short thy sufferings here, and, now,
How lasting thy repose on high!

Where thou art lodged, no foes assail,
No woes distress, no sins enslave;
Why then should we thy lot bewail,
Or gaze with anguish on thy grave ?

How peacefully thy spirit fled !
To thee how calm a death was given !
We scarcely knew that thou wast dead,
When angels welcomed thee in heaven.

So flies the zephyr's softest breath,
So flows the streamlet's smoothest wave ;
Why then should we bewail thy death,
Or gaze with anguish on thy grave ?

Angels are hovering near yon tomb,
A floweret lies beneath that sod,
Which, though decayed, again shall bloom
Amid the paradise of God.

To other graves let grief repair,
O'er other tombs let sorrow rave,
An innocent reposes there,
That marble marks an angel's grave.

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