A CHRYSALIS. 711 



Last year a worm went crawling o'er the earth — 

 A lowly creature sprung of humble birth ; 

 No flitting bird in all its warbling mirth 



Espied it crawling round. 

 In autumn time when summer days were gone 

 And nature's garb was growing sear and wan, 

 Among the leaves that strewed the grassy lawn, 



One day, by chance 'twas found. 



'Twas snatched away from winter's icy whelm, 

 Put in a cup among some leaves of elm, 

 And there it spun a soft and silky film 



Bewrought with wondrous skill ; 

 The silken warp was threaded round its form — 

 The fining weft was woven close and warm ; 

 And, lost to sight, secured from every storm, 



'Tis resting calmly still. 



And since the time it passed from human sight. 

 Has intervened full many a cheerless night. 

 And winter's train with bleak, relentless might, 



All nature 'round has swayed ; 

 And weary months have passed with weary tread, 

 And living frames have hungered after bread ; 

 While dirges sad the wintry winds have said 



Or wildest chants have played. 



The weary while with all its storms and tears 

 Has brought this worm no racking pain, no fears; 

 Do sleep the dead thro' all their slumbering years 



Unmindful of the time ? 

 But now the spring, with sunHght mild and warm, 

 Will wake to life this seeming pulseless form : 

 Just so will rouse the Resurrection morn 



The dead of every clime. 



Two months I watched to see the bursting strange; 

 I thought to view the great and wondrous change — 

 The coming forth the vernal earth to range 



Of that inswaddled worm ; 

 But all the spring with its vivific hours 

 And twittering birds, its bursting buds, its flowers. 

 Had passed away, nor 'vailed its mighty powers 



To rouse the slumbering germ. 



