Anonymous British

On Seeing A Butterfly Just Escaped From Its Chrysalis

Why, lovely insect, dost thou stand, And wave thy quiv'ring wing, As, half afraid thou wert, aloft On fields of air to spring? But now has reach'd thy slender form A sunbeam warm and bright, And instant thou hast upward sprung Towards the source of light. Thus in the portals of the tomb, The trembling soul shall stand, Till beams of faith and mercy point Its way to the promised land. The land of peace! the land of love! Where sorrow is unknown, And songs of joy for ever float Around th' Almighty's throne!