ents whose Families are
most prosperous and joyful: May they learn Wisdom and Piety from what
_we_ suffer, and their Improvements shall be acknowledged as an
additional Reason for _us_ to say, _It is well._

1. WHEN GOD takes away our Children from us, it is a very affecting
Lesson of the Vanity of the World.

THERE is hardly a Child born into it, on whom the Parents do not look
with some pleasing Expectation that it shall _comfort them concerning
their Labour_[c]. This makes the Toil of Education easy and
delightful: And truly 'tis very early that we begin to find a
Sweetness in it, which abundantly repays all the Fatigue. Five, or
four, or three, or two Years, make Discoveries which afford immediate
Pleasure, and which suggest future Hopes. Their Words, their Actions,
their very Looks touch us, if they be amiable and promising Children,
in a tender, but very powerful Manner; their little Arms twine about
our Hearts; and there is something more penetrating in their first
broken Accents of Indearment, than in all the Pomp and Ornament of
Words. Every Infant-Year increases the Pleasure, and nourishes the
Hope. And where is the Parent so wise and so cautious, and so
constantly intent on his Journey to Heaven, as not to measure back a
few Steps to Earth again, on such a plausible and decent Occasion, as
that of introducing the young Stranger into the Amusements, nay
perhaps, where Circumstances will admit it, into the Elegancies of
Life, as well as its more serious and important Business? What fond
Calculations do we form of what it _will be_, from what _it is_! How
do we in Thought open every Blossom of Sprightliness, or Humanity, or
Piety, to its full Spread, and ripen it to a sudden Maturity! But, oh,
who shall teach those that have never felt it, how it tears the very
Soul; when GOD roots up the tender Plant with an inexorable Hand, and
withers the Bud in which the Colours were beginning to glow! Where is
now our Delight? Where is our Hope? Is it in the Coffin? Is it in the
Grave? Alas! all the Loveliness of Person, of Genius, and of Temper,
serves but to point and to poison the Arrow, which is drawn out of our
own Quiver to wound us. Vain, delusive, transitory Joys! "And such, Oh
my Soul," will the Christian say, "such are thine earthly Comforts in
every Child, in every Relative, in every Possession of Life; such are
the Objects of thy Hopes, and thy Fears, thy Schemes, and thy Labours,
where Earth alone is conc