Classic Poem

How justly may we mourn our mortal state,
And blame the rigid hand of partial fate,
Since even tender infants are not free
From the unerring stroke of destiny!
But smiling babes as well are snatch'd away
As aged souls, who live but to decay.
Else had Eliza liv'd till wit and grace
Had made her mind as charming as her face;
Till rip'ning beauty would have made her shine
All innocent, all lovely and divine.
But now no more Eliza's name we hear
Without the mournful tribute of a tear.
All mourn Eliza's loss, her parents most,
Since they in her have all their comfort lost.
But see, her dear, her infant soul arise
In eager triumph through the distant skies;
See what a shining cloud the Heav'ns display
To meet Eliza in the Milky Way.
Why, then, should we lament that she's above?
'Tis true, it shows our reverence and love;
But yet we ought a sympathy to bear,
And while she's blest in Heav'n, we should be joyful here.