There soars a warbler toward high Heaven,
His course seems sure and straight;—
So speeds an arrow from the bow-string,
Yet who can read his fate!
For while he carols like a seraph
Bound for a radiant star
Mayhap the fowler's eye, relentless,
Has doomed him from afar.
A longer life the crawling snail hath
Than thou—O wanderer bright—
Ah, let the sluggard crawl in safety,
Thine is the realm of light!
Like thee a soaring soul's in peril,
Yet its one hour is worth
A whole Eternity of grovelling
Closer to grimy earth.