Poems (Merrill)/The Captive Butterfly

by Clara A. Merrill

THE CAPTIVE BUTTERFLY

(A true tale)

One morn as I walked in the meadow
 Where flooded the sun's golden light
Athwart tree and shrub—mid the grasses
 A butterfly gorgeous and bright

Was caught in a web which a spider
 Had deftly and craftily wrought;
Aloft as a snare she had placed it
 And the unwary butterfly caught.

Vainly the poor insect fluttered
 To be freed from the web's fleecy fold;
But its wings were caught fast in its meshes
 And its fate could be plainly foretold.

It appealed to my heart so pathetic
 Ne'er thought I to ignore its strife
It was one of God's own little creatures
 And it had a good right to its life.

So I knelt there beside the small captive
 And gently the fine web I tore;
Then away on glad wings it bounded,
 Rejoicing in freedom once more.

It was only a poor lowly insect,
 Yet perchance, does the Good Father see
Small deeds that are wrought in the spirit of love
 He would say "Ye did this unto Me."

In the Book where all works are recorded—
 In that Haven up yonder so fair;
Who knows but one mark bright and shining
 Now illumines my name "over there."