No sooner come, but gone, and fal'n asleep, <br />Acquaintance short, yet parting caus'd us weep, <br />Three flours, two searcely blown, the last i'th' bud, <br />Cropt by th'Almighties hand; yet is he good, <br />With dreadful awe before him let's be mute, <br />Such was his will, but why, let's not dispute, <br />With humble hearts and mouths put in the dust, <br />Let's say he's merciful as well as just. <br />He will return, and make up all our losses, <br />And smile again, after our bitter crosses. <br />Go pretty babe, go rest with Sisters twain <br />Among the blest in endless joyes remain.<br /><br />Anne Bradstreet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-my-dear-grand-child-simon-bradstreet-who-dyed-on-16-novemb-1669-being-but-a-moneth-and-one-d/
