No sooner come, but gone, and fal’n afleep,
Acquaintance short, yet parting caus’d us weep,
Three flowers, two scarcely 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 blessed; in endless joys remain.