The Butterfly

My garden was bright on a summer morn
And a butterfly on the breeze was borne,
From tasting the sweets of each early flower,
To the quiet shade of my garden bower.

With a voice as soft as a waving leaf,
It whisper'd a tale of joy and grief---
The low sweet song a butterfly sings
To the noiseless beat of its golden wings.

" O scorn not the voice of a creature so light,
For my wings with the morning sun are bright,
And I dance with the lily and live in the rose
With almost the joy an angel knows.

" I came from a cell, with a leaf for my cot,
And a dark night of sorrow was early my lot,
Till, rock'd by the winds and bathed by the dew,
A sunbeam awoke me to nothing I knew.

" From the door of my prison I look'd out alone,
My wings yet wet, and my strength ungrown ;
But at last came a breeze, full of frolic and play,
And laughingly, lovingly bore me away,

" then my spirit grew strong, for my hopes were high,
And broad were my wings when I spread them to fly ;
I gleam'd through the ocean of sweetness and light,
A creature all new in a world all bright.

" O little I dream'd in the night of my grief,
In my dark lonely cell underneath the broad leaf,
How queenly a dress should be mine on the morrow,
How blessed a dawn from the night of my sorrow.

" And thou, while the clouds gather dark in the night,
Be sure that the day will dawn gladly and bright :
Thy Father hath sent thee a message by me---
If He cared for a worm, will He not care for thee ?

"  With patience and prayer let the dark hours go by,
Love makes its own heaven of a tear or a sigh---
As the night of thy sorrow is darker than mine,
So my joyous awaking is nothing but thine."

Written by
Matilda Cotterell.