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.