Christian Worship Death Of A Child.
Life is a span,-a fleeting hour:
How soon the vapor flies!
Man is a tender, transient flower,
That e’en in blooming dies.
The once-loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;
And nature weeps, her comforts fled,
And withered all her joys.
Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,
When what we now deplore
Shall rise in full, immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.
Cease, then, fond nature, cease thy tears;
Thy Saviour dwells on high;
There everlasting spring appears;
There joy shall never die.