Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child

This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
  Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;
  The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
  His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
  Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
  Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
  Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
  Has learn'd the little arts of doing harms ;
  Fair as young Cherubins, as soft and kind,
 And tho translated could not be refin'd ;
 The Seventh dear pledge the Nuptial Joys had given,
 Toil'd here on Earth, retir'd to rest in Heaven ;
 Where they the shining Host of Angels fill,
 Spread their gay wings before the Throne, and smile.