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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