Infant' graves are steps of angels, where
Earth's brightest gems of innocence repose
God is their parent, and they need no tear;
He takes them to His bosom from earth's woes,
A bud their lifetime and a flower their close
Their spirits are an Iris of the skies,
Needing no prayers; a sunset's happy close
Gone are the bright rays of their soft blue eyes;
Flowers weep in dew-drops oer them, and the gale gently sighs

Their lives were nothing but a sunny shower,
Melting on flowers as tears melt from the eye
Their deaths were dew-drops on Heaven's amaranth bower,
And tolled on flowers as Summer gales went by
They bowed and trembled, and they left no sigh,
And the sun smiled to show their end was well
Infants have nought to weep for ere they die;
All prayers are needless, beads they need not tell,
White flowers their mourners are, Nature their passing bell
Weep no more! Nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:
Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see