Than lo, like an angel of love,
I saw, to the waters beneath me,
A leaflet descend from above.
It glided serene on the streamlet,
'Twas an ark to the poor little fly;
Which, soon to the land reascending,
Spread its wings to the breezes to dry.
Oh, sweet was the truth that was whispered,
That mortals should never despair,
For He that takes care of an insect,