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ON THE DEATH OF ALONZO CLAUDIUS WHITRIDGE, AGED EIGHT YEARS.

He came into this world of care, A precious gift from Heaven; And on his brow, so passing fair, A holy kiss was given, As, cradled in his mother’s arms, The smiling cherub lay; While gazed the father on his charms, Pure as the opening day.

In after months, too tenderly They watch’d his gambols wild; Ah! did they know how tenderly They held their darling child? A few short hours, and O, the change Their sadden’d spirits feel! The tear--the sigh--the gloom; how strange! Who can the cause reveal?

Ah! look around--the mother’s arms No precious burden hold; The father’s heart no longer warms With ecstasy untold, As when his playful infant boy, With outstretch’d, dancing hands, In baby language spoke his joy, Or utter’d his commands.

Yes, look around! in that still place A lovely infant lies, A parting smile upon his face, The smile of sweet surprise, As burst upon his ravish’d ear The music of the blest In Heaven, when harps were tuning there To welcome home the guest.

But hark! a softer, sweeter strain Of infant harmony! O, who would now to earth enchain That spirit, pure and free? Though icy cold the body lies Enwrapt in death’s embrace, To Jesus’ arms the spirit flies, Burning to see his face.

CHARLESTON, May, 1834.