THE CAPTIVE BUTTERFLY
35
So I knelt there beside the small captive And gently the fine web I tore; Then away on glad wings it bounded, Rejoicing in freedom once more.
It was only a poor lowly insect, Yet perchance, does the Good Father see Small deeds that are wrought in the spirit of love He would say "Ye did this unto Me."
In the Book where all works are recorded— In that Haven up yonder so fair; Who knows but one mark bright and shining Now illumines my name "over there."
