A Funeral Poem On The Death Of C. E. An Infant Of Twelve Months
Through airy roads he wings his instant flight
To purer regions of celestial light;
Enlarg'd he sees unnumber'd systems roll,
Beneath him sees the universal whole,
Planets on planets run their destin'd round,
And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
Th' ethereal now, and now th' empyreal skies
With growing splendors strike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
Then smilling thus: 'To this divine abode,
'The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
'Thrice welcome thou.' The raptur'd babe replies,
'Thanks to my God, who snatch'd me to the skies,
'E'er vice triumphant had possess'd my heart,
'E'er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart,
'E'er yet on sin's base actions I was bent,
'E'er yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
'E'er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
'E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
'But, soon arriv'd at my celestial goal,
'Full glories rush on my expanding soul.'
Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults resound.
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan?
To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtless wishes, and prepost'rous love?
Doth his felicity increase your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliss? with a superior air
Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
'Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.'
But still you cry, 'Can we the sigh borbear,
'And still and still must we not pour the tear?
'Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
'Twelve moons revolv'd, becomes the prey of death;
'Delightful infant, nightly visions give
'Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
'We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
'The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.'
To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
In pleasures without measure, without end.
Phillis Wheatley's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Funeral Poem On The Death Of C. E. An Infant Of Twelve Months by Phillis Wheatley )
Did you read them?
- Hobbesian Girl, John F. McCullagh
- Outlook, hasmukh amathalal
- Of Sinne, John Beaumont
- Forgive Me, Ismim Putera
- A Monster's Warning, Bruce Larkin
- Of Teares, John Beaumont
- Advice from the Jackalope Man, Bruce Larkin
- The Mind Of A Blacksmith, M.D Dinesh Nair
- ~ Living ~, Aparna Chatterjee
- A Dialogue Between The World, A Pilgrim .., John Beaumont
Poem of the Day
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- A Drinking Song, William Butler Yeats
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Heather Burns
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(1886 - 1967)