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BUTTERFLIES.
They flit about on fairest days,
Bright, beautiful and free,
With not a pain or anxious thought
To check their buoyant glee.
Bright, beautiful and free,
With not a pain or anxious thought
To check their buoyant glee.
But never will they brave a storm
Or face a threatening ill,
They never dream of good to do,
Or duty to fulfil.
Or face a threatening ill,
They never dream of good to do,
Or duty to fulfil.
How idle, useless, might we deem
Their pleasurable lot,
But would we banish butterflies
Because they feed us not?
Their pleasurable lot,
But would we banish butterflies
Because they feed us not?
DREAMS.
They come to us oft when the shades are deep,
And our voices are silent and hushed in sleep;
Glad, fairy-like visions of all things bright
Frequent the dark hours of the calm midnight,
And lift from our senses the veil that parts
The things that we love from our yearning hearts.
At liberty over all lands we roam,
Then are in a moment again at home,
And our loved ones return from each distant place
And clasp us once more in a fond embrace,
And others fling from them the grave's fast chain,
And gladden our hearts with their light again;
But we rise in the morn from our haunted bed,
And sigh to discover our dreams have fled.
And our voices are silent and hushed in sleep;
Glad, fairy-like visions of all things bright
Frequent the dark hours of the calm midnight,
And lift from our senses the veil that parts
The things that we love from our yearning hearts.
At liberty over all lands we roam,
Then are in a moment again at home,
And our loved ones return from each distant place
And clasp us once more in a fond embrace,
And others fling from them the grave's fast chain,
And gladden our hearts with their light again;
But we rise in the morn from our haunted bed,
And sigh to discover our dreams have fled.
And then in the daylight, with open eyes,
What beautiful visions before us rise!
We dream of delights that may lie in store,
More deep than we ever have known before;
We picture ourselves near a flower-clad field,
Where the blossoms all manner of fragrance yield,
What beautiful visions before us rise!
We dream of delights that may lie in store,
More deep than we ever have known before;
We picture ourselves near a flower-clad field,
Where the blossoms all manner of fragrance yield,
