A Mother's Thanksgiving for the Death of Her Child

All praise to God on high,
Who sets His heart on man,
And beckons from the sky,
And bids him turn again,
Gathers unto Himself his breath,
And blesses by an early death.

Even now His arms receive
The spirit of my child:
He gave him to believe,
He showed him reconciled,
Cut short the sudden work of grace,
And caught him up to see His face.

The hallowing Spirit's prayer
Breathed from his sprinkled heart,
And cried, The new-born heir
Is ready to depart!
And blessings on his friends approve
The faith that sweetly works by love.

His faith is lost in sight,
His prayers are lost in praise,
Amidst the saints in light
He sings the Saviour's grace,
Which strangely kept his conscience clean,
Unspotted in a world of sin.

So early to remove
And quit the vale of tears,
A miracle of love
Throughout his fourteen years,
Preserved his sacred innocence,
And snatch'd him uncorrupted hence.

Who kept his garments white,
Hath call'd him to a crown,
And lo! from Sioris height
The happy spirit looks down,
Beyond the range of fiends removed.
Took from a world he never loved.

He cannot love it now,
Or feel its poisoning power,
To Satan's image bow,
Whom all mankind adore,
Worship the learn'd, or scarlet beast,
Or seek in creature good his rest.

Nor pleasure soft can soothe
His unsuspecting heart,
Or tempt his heedless youth
From Jesus to depart;
Nor grandeur turn his steps aside.
That stately littleness of pride!

He cannot now aspire
With a malicious joy,
(While envious passions fire
The fond applauded boy)
Or cloak his honourable shame
With Emulations specious name.

Ambition in his breast
Shall never, never glow;
In garb angelic drest,
And deified below,
It issued from the dark abodes,
"The glorious fault" of devil-gods!

The soul superior soars
To heaven's unfolding scene,
The everlasting doors
Receive the stranger in,
And angels hail the new-born heir,
And kindred saints salute him there.

A royal coronet
Upon his head they place,
With stars of glory set,
And pearls of heavenly grace;
They robe him in the milk-white vest,
And deck him for the marriage feast.

They bring his golden lyre,
And lo! he strikes the strings,
Amidst the' angelic choir
The song of Moses sings,
The' angelic choir, transported prove
Diviner joys, and stronger love.

He lives to die no more,
He reigns above the sky,-—
And I the blessing bore,
A joyful mother I
My darling son have freely given
To' exalt the happiness of heaven.