MY GARDEN silk and incloses itself in it. So far as we can 



see it is dead. But wait a few days and it comes 

 forth another creature, clothed in richest colors 

 and with brilliant wings. It flies gloriously 

 above the earth upon which it had seemed 

 painfully to crawl. 



This life which we live here — is it really all? 

 Is it the best that we shall know, the best for 

 which we are made? 



Do not the higher reaches of life to which we 

 have come promise more? May we not hope 

 for celestial wings? Is not the butterfly a 

 symbol of the soul? 



The rose and the worm and man and worlds 

 are all but parts of the Mystery — parts of the 



Plan. 



[90] 



