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ON AN INFANT.

To the dark and silent tomb,
Soon I hasted from the womb:
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ere I measur'd out my span.

I no smiling pleasures knew;
I no gay delights could view :
Joyless sojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.-

Happy infant, early bless'd!
Rest, in peaceful slumber, rest;
Early rescu'd from the cares,
Which increase with growing years

No delights are worth thy stay,
Smiling as they seem, and gay;
Short and sickly are they all,
Hardly tasted ere they pall.

All our gaiety is vain,
All our laughter is but pain:
Lasting only, and divine,
Is an innocence like thine.

FINIS.

J. Raw, Printer, Ipswich.

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