Oh, Bird of Hope! soar not too high
Because the skies are fair;
The tempest may come on apace
And overcome thee there.
When far above the mountain tops
Thou soarest over all,
If then the storm should press thee back
How great would be thy fall!
And thou wouldst lie here at my feet,
A poor and lifeless thing,--
A torn and bleeding birdling, with
A limp and broken wing.
Sing not too loud, oh bird of hope!
Because the day is bright;
The sunshine cannot always last--
The morn precedes the night.
And if thy song is of the day,
Then when the day grows dim,
Forlorn and voiceless, thou wilt sit
Among the shadows grim.
Oh! I would have thee soar and sing,
But not too high and loud:
Remembering that day meets night--
The brilliant sun the cloud.
Poems of reflection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, M.A. Donohue & company [c1905].
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