"On the Death of J. C. an Infant" Phillis Wheatley Tonya Howe Transcription, correction, editorial commentary, and markup Students of Marymount University James West Amy Ridderhof National Endowment for the Humanities Literature in Context
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Published by Literature in Context under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 Unported License "On the Death of J. C. an Infant" Phillis Wheatley Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral London Printed for A. Bell bookseller, Aldgate 1773 Page images are sourced from two copies of the first edition housed in the Library of Congress. Ann Arbor, MI University of Michigan Humanities Text Initiative 1999 Online SGML text from the University of Michigan HTI. SGML markup edited to conform to LiC parameters, including changes to element and attribute case, ligatures, and other special html characters. [9],124p., 18cm pp 92-93 English print single poem

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On the Death of J. C. an Infant. NO more the flow'ry scenes of pleasure rise, Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes, No more with joy we view that lovely face Smiling, disportive, flush'd with ev'ry grace. The tear of sorrow flows from ev'ry eye, Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply; What sudden pangs shot thro' each aching heart, When, Death, thy messenger dispatch'd his dart? Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow'r, Hurried the infant to his mortal hour. Could'st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes? Or fail'd his artless beauties to surprize? Could not his innocence thy stroke controul, Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul? The blooming babe, with shades of Death o'erspread, No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head, But, like a branch that from the tree is torn, Falls prostrate, wither'd, languid, and forlorn. "Where flies my James?" 'tis thus I seem to hear The parent ask, "Some angel tell me where "He wings his passage thro' the yielding air?" Methinks a cherub bending from the skies Observes the question, and serene replies, "In heav'ns high palaces your babe appears: "Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears." Shall not th' intelligence your grief restrain, And turn the mournful to the chearful strain? Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh, Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky. Parents, no more indulge the falling tear: Let Faith to heav'n's refulgent domes repair, There see your infant, like a seraph glow: What charms celestial in his numbers flow Melodious, while the soul-enchanting strain Dwells on his tongue, and fills th' ethereal plain? Enough -- for ever cease your murm'ring breath; Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death, Since to the port of happiness unknown He brought that treasure which you call your own. The gift of heav'n intrusted to your hand Chearful resign at the divine command: Not at your bar must sov'reign Wisdom stand.