The bird let loose in the eastern skies,
When fondly hastening home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
When idler wanderers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
When nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me, God, from every snare
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft, through virtue’s purer air,
To wing my course to Thee.
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.
Your Basket Is Empty