The Heavenly Butterfly

Tho’ the righteous shed it oft too soon,

Their mortal tent is just cocoon

Which in life they toil to spin

To emerge forever free from sin;

The silken faith from which it’s framed

Will reveal the glory at which they aimed.

 

Changed in the twinkling of an eye,

A Voice will call them to the sky

And from heaven the cry will ring —

“Where, O death, is now your sting?”

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