Samuel Francis Smith

“ Then to thy glorious Source, though, babe, wast borne.
Dear infant angel, safe in joy and God!
Babe of fair promise, child of fondest prayer!
Hail, rescued spirit! painful is the rod;
But never will we mourn that thou art there.
Bright gem, we would not tear thee from thy crown,
Nor bid thy harp, sweet seraph, silent lie;
Stay in thy mansion, infant, still our own,
Never to grieve again, or fear, or die.
Short was thy pilgrim path, a sunny hour;
Life was to thee too sweet a boon to last. ”