MEMORY OF GUSTEEN.
How blest thy infant daughter now,
How sweet is her repose;
Before Almighty God does bow,
Forever--and no close.
Thy infant is a seraph now,
Parents shed thou no tear;
But then in God do thou
E'er trust,--and like him do appear.
Thy beauteous smile was ever fair,
Thy lip and eye was bright,
Thy mother mourn'd the ceasing care,
Which was to her delight.
A fairer babe there hast not been,
Clung to its mother's breast;
But with thee then decease was seen,
It ceas'd,--and thou didst rest.
Then parents count her death no loss,
But rather count it gain;
Nor do with looks of sore remorse,
Even wish her back again.
Then at the last--the judgment day,
Thy infant dear shall rise,
And heavenly scenes to her portray,
Her home--the heavenly skies.
Then at that solemn, trying hour,
The wicked oft will say,
O! that divine almighty power,
Would send a heavenly ray.