EPITAPH ON A CHILD WHO DIED OF A SCARLET FEVER IN THE FIFTEENTH MONTH OF HIS AGE. 1802.
Reading edition
Though thou wert dear, for lovely was thy form, And fair thy mind, and hopeful from thy birth; Though sudden was the pestilential storm That beat thy tender blossom to the earth; For thee we grieve not; certain that the soul Yet sinless, bursting from its earthy clod, Is borne on angel wings beyond the pole, Where infant innocence hath place with God.