Poetry: Lines

Written on the dcath of "Frederick Hamilton," only son of Warren and Anna Hamilton, Aged 1 month and 17 days. Go, littlc darling, to thy Savior's brcast, We ask thee not to linger longer hcre; 'Tis an inhospitable clime at best - How much urilike that bright and beaming sphere! Goto thy scrnph-sister hovering near The fount of bliss - where flows unmixed delight; We check thesigh, and wipe the falling tear, As we behold thee on thy upward fliglit. Most gloriously tranaformed, as passing from our sight. Wo haü'd thy coming wiih a parent's joy, And doted on thy fair but fragüe form, Hopes (blightedhopes) revi ved with thee, sweet boy - Bloomed but to wilher in the hast'ning storm. Yet thou wast favored much (in life's young mom, E'er foul transgressions' blot had stained thy soul) By me8sengers of merey homeward borne, To 8wcll the song where ceasless anthems roll, Thy race but just commenced when thou had'st reached the goal. Still we survive thee in a world of woe, O would that we could ibllow where thou art - No tears of sorrow in those región flow, No wounded spirit fecls the burning smart. If ever there is folly in the heart, 'Tis when we cali the joy 8 of earth ourown; We clasp them closely, and when cnlled to part, We find our dreams of happinesshave flown ; And all our fancied bliss, to misery hath grown. O God, most wise, most merci ful and good, In joy, and sorrow. thou art still the same; Forgive the impious thought that dare intrude, And thy unerring providence condemn. Tremblingbeneath the stroke, we bless thy name, And humbly bow before ihy sovereign wil!, Thou who did'st once the raging billows tame, Say to the troubled bosom, "Pcnce, be still," And with thy presence, all this dreary chasm fill. Salem. February, 1843.