Man, the caged bird that owned an higher nest,
Is here awhile detained, reluctant guest,
Who beak and plumage shatters in his rage,
And with his prison doth vain war engage:
For him the falcon watches, and his snare
The bloody fowler doth for him prepare.
Exiled from home, he here doth sadly sing,
In spring lacks autumn, and in autumn spring.
Far from his nest, he shivers on a wall,
Where blows on him of rude misfortune fall--
His head with weight of misery sore bowed down,
His pinion clogged with dust, his courage gone.
Then from his nest in heaven is heard a cry,
And straight he spreads his wings divine on high:
Lift him, O Lord, unto the Lotus tree,
No meaner pitch may with his birth agree;
Grant him a pinion of such lofty flight,
That he may on the Lotus tree alight:
In thy bright palaces his nest prepare;--
Oh, happy, happy bird that nesteth there!