Classic Poem

The little Bird at break of Day,
That charm'd us with its Song,
And fondly hopp'd from Spray to Spray,
The Musick to prolong,
As Ev'ning came, ill fated fell,
Struck by a Hand unseen,
Resign'd that Breath which pleas'd so well
And flutter'd on the Green.
The Lambs that wont to bleat & play,
And bask in Sunshine Air,
That danc'd the fleeting Hours away,
And knew not Want or Care,
When Night her sable Curtain spread,
Fell to the Wolf a Prey,
And here & there dispers'd & dead,
The scatter'd Fragments lay.
The Blossoms which to vernal Air,
Their fragrant Leaves unfold,
And deck the spreading Branches fair
With Purple, White & Gold.
Diffuse their Sweets & Charm the Eye,
And promise future Store,
Nipp'd by a Frost untimely dye,
And shed Perfumes no more.—
'Twas thus the Poppet ceas'd to breathe,
The small Machine stood still,
The little Lungs no longer heave
Or Motion follows Will.
No more that flattering Voice we hear,
Soft as the Linets Song,
Each idle Hour to sooth & chear,
Which slowly rolls along.
That sprightly Action's past & gone,
With all its tempting Play,
Sprightly as Lambs that tread the Lawn
Along a Summers Day.
The Dawn of Reason we admir'd,
As op'ning Blossoms fair,
Now to the silent Grave retir'd,
Its Organs moulder there.
Flowers on thy Breast & round thy Head,
With thee their Sweets resign,
Nipp'd from their tender Stalks & dead,
Their Fate resembles thine.
Just as their Charms allure the Eye,
And fragrant Leaves unfold,
Clos'd in eternal Night they lie,
To mix with common Mould.
Thy harmless Soul releas'd from Earth,
A Cherub sings above,
Immortal in a second Birth,
By thy Redeemer's Love.