BIRD OF HOPE

Soar not too high, oh bird of Hope!
    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 would'st 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 wouldst sit
    Among the shadows grim.

Oh! I would have thee soar and sing,
    But not too high, or 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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