Gaily it flits in the path of the sun, Light as a zephyr it goes! Pausing to rest on the tip of a flower, Nothing of darkness it knows. A butterfly gay, and so glad just because It's forgotten the poor little worm it once was! Perfection is calling! Shall we not obey, And turn from that clod which we seem? God's children are clad in the garments of Truth, They walk in the light of Love's beam! And just like the butterfly, shall we not show We've forgotten the past in the good that we know?
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