MAN FLUTTERS IN THE CAGE OF DESTINY
Man flutters in the cage of Destiny,
Beats on the wires and struggles to be free,
Lays frantic grasp upon the fleeting hours,
Upbraids with vain complaint supernal powers;
Helpless and hopeless, angry as the waves
When tempests lash them into rock-girt caves;
Vexed as the child reft of some darling toy,
Yet often, like the child, wooed back to joy
By some delusive dream whose colours glow
As bright, as falsely, as sun-tinted snow;
Scorned by himself, and by the angels scorned;
A being made to mourn and to be mourned.
Ah no! though sorrow be their mortal lot,
There are who can endure and murmur not;
There are who hallow uncomplaining years
With a perpetual flow of quict tears,
Gaze on the captive fluttering in his cage,
The wind-swept billows tossing in their rage,
The fretful infant, with a smile and sigh,
And whisper "Till grief tamed me, such was I."
Beats on the wires and struggles to be free,
Lays frantic grasp upon the fleeting hours,
Upbraids with vain complaint supernal powers;
Helpless and hopeless, angry as the waves
When tempests lash them into rock-girt caves;
Vexed as the child reft of some darling toy,
Yet often, like the child, wooed back to joy
By some delusive dream whose colours glow
As bright, as falsely, as sun-tinted snow;
Scorned by himself, and by the angels scorned;
A being made to mourn and to be mourned.
Ah no! though sorrow be their mortal lot,
There are who can endure and murmur not;
There are who hallow uncomplaining years
With a perpetual flow of quict tears,
Gaze on the captive fluttering in his cage,
The wind-swept billows tossing in their rage,
The fretful infant, with a smile and sigh,
And whisper "Till grief tamed me, such was I."
Dec. 1841,
51
