They say that animals, having no soul,
When they die are never borne to heaven,
And I believe that.
But who can say,
When God shall recreate this pleasant earth,
Whether we find again my mother’s cat?
When the prophet says of God,
His mercies are new every morning,
Does God change?
Or does finity, trial and sin, give daily
Occasion to seek again some gracious facet.
What is the church but a million fireflies
Squinting close upon a diamond.
