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"Blaspheme not Heaven
with rash impatient speech,
Nor deem, at thine own hour, its rest to reach,
Unhappy child! The full appointed time
Is His to choose; and when the sullen chime,
And deep-toned striking of the funeral bell,
Thy fate to earthly ears shall sadly tell,
Oh! may the death thou talk'st of as a boon,
Find thee prepared, - nor come even then too soon!
"True, ere thou meet'st that long and dreamless sleep,
Thy heart must ache - thy weary eyes must weep:
It is our human lot! The fairest child
That e'er on loving mother brightly smiled, -
Most watched, most tended - ere his eyelids close
Hath had his little share of infant woes,
And dies familiar with the sense of grief,
Though for all else his life hath been too brief!
But shall we therefore, murmuring against God,
Question the justice of his chastening rod,
And look to earthly joys as though they were
The prize immortal souls were given to share?
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