An Epitaph. for an Infant

Sleep on, sweet babe! no dreams annoy thy rest, Thy spirit flew unsullied from thy breast: Sleep on, sweet innocent! nor shalt thou dread The passing storm that thunders o'er thy head: Thro' the bright regions of yon azure sky, A winged seraph, now she soars on high; Or, on the bosom of a cloud reclin'd, She rides triumphant on the rapid wind; Or from its source pursues the radiant day; Or on a sun-beam, smoothly glides away; Or mounts aerial, to her blest abode, And sings, inspir'd, the praises of her God: Unveiled, thence, to her extensive eye, Nature, and Nature's Laws, expanded lie: Death, in one moment, taught this infant more Than years or ages ever taught before.