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.