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 Lighting its deep sepulchral gloom
 * With Heaven's bright beaming ray.

The merry, soft-wing'd butterfly,
 * Which sports among the flowers,

Rejoicing in the summer sky
 * At noontide's pleasant hours,

Was once a poor imprison'd worm,
 * Shut in a gloomy cell,

Uncheer'd by morning's glad return,
 * While there obliged to dwell;

But God unlock'd its prison door,
 * And made it all anew,

To fly about from flower to flower,
 * And sip the cooling dew.

And He, by his almighty word,
 * Will call us to the skies,

And make us like to Christ our Lord,
 * When we from death arise,