On an Infant Killed by Lightning

As fearless as a cherub's rest,
Now safe above the cloud,
A babe lay on its mother's breast
When thunders roared aloud.
It started not to hear the crash,
But held its little hand
Up, at the lightning's fearful flash,
To catch the burning brand.

The tender mother stayed her breath
In more than grief awhile,
To think the thing that brought its death
Should cause her babe to smile.
Aye, it did smile a heavenly smile
To see the lightning play;
Well might she shriek when it turned pale,
And yet it smiled in clay.

O woman! the dread storm was given
To be to each a friend;
It took thy infant pure to heaven,
Left thee impure to mend.
Thus Providence will oft appear
From God's own mouth to preach:
Ah! would we were as prone to hear
As Mercy is to teach!