No sooner come, but gone, and fal'n asleep,
Acquaintance short, yet parting caus'd us weep,

Three flours, two searcely blown, the last i'th' bud,
Cropt by th' Almighty's hand; yet is he good,
With dreadful awe before him let's be mute,

Such was his will, but why, let's not dispute,

With humble hearts and mouths put in the dust,
Let's say he's merciful as well as just.
He will return, and make up all our losses,

And smile again, after our bitter crosses.

Go pretty babe, go rest with Sisters twain
Among the blest in endless joys remain.

Meantime my throbbing heart's cheered up with this--
Thou with thy Savior art in endless bliss.
--1678