To A Mother On The Death Of A Child Poem by John Bowring

'Like morning dew
He sparkled; was exhaled, and went to heaven;'
That promise for the innocent was given,
And is divinely true.
All that is left on earth
Shall be a sacred, sainted memory,
For he is raised to an exalted birth,
And heaven his home shall be.


What could he know
Of all the mysteries of life and death?
He lightly drew his short and passing breath.
Poor child! departing so
He found his early rest:
Then mourn not, Mother! keep the recollection
Shrined in the inmost seat of thine affection,
Knowing that he is blest!