Epitaph On The Tombstone Of A Child

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument, Contains all that was sweet and innocent ; The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue, His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ; Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears, Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres; Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ; Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind, And tho translated could not be refin'd ; The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given, Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ; Where they the shining Host of Angels fill, Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.