To An Infant Poem by Mary Weston Fordham

Just as the twilight's holy hour
In quietude so deep,
Was hushing nature to repose,
Our 'Charlie' fell asleep.

Just in the bloom of infancy,
We laid him to his rest,
Well knowing that our angel boy
Was numbered with the blest.

Well knowing that the Saviour said
Oh! suffer such to come,
'Forbid them not,' for they are Mine,
And heaven is their home.

So bow we to God's gracious will,
For he was lent, not given,
And let this cheer our drooping hearts,
Our Charlie is in heaven.