Full Lyrics
To Amira, on the death of her child
by Anne Steele, 1760
So fades the lovely, blooming flower,
Frail, smiling solace of an hour!
So soon our transient comforts fly,
And pleasure only blooms to die!
To certain trouble we are born,
Hope to rejoice, but sure to mourn.
Ah wretched effort! sad relief,
To plead necessity of grief!
Is there no kind, no lenient art
To heal the anguish of the heart?
To ease the heavy load of care.
Which nature must, but cannot bear?
Can reason's dictates be obeyed?
Too weak, alas, her strongest aid!
O let religion then be nigh,
Her comforts were not made to die.
