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Poem	Soar not too high, O 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 wouldst lie here at my feet, A poor and lifeless thing, - A torn and bleeding birdling, With limp and broken wing. Sing not too loud, O 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.
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