4 Beautiful Butterflies. 



bosoms of those to whom you are dear, and watching 

 round you like angels wherever you move. You can 

 speak, and write, and think, and above all you can 

 pray, and be prayed for. Here is a privilege ! For 

 the poor soulless Butterfly there are none of these good 

 things. — 



" Its little hour of sunshine o'er, 



It passes from the view, 

 To breathe the breath of life no more — 



It is not so with you. 

 Your soul shall from the tomb arise 



In beautiful array, 

 To dwell for aye in Paradise, 



And everlasting day/* 



