There's a hand on the rudder that will not flinch,
There's no fear in the Pilot's face
As he guides the worlds, like boats in a storm,
Through the rocking seas of space.
And whether they make the harbor at last,
Beyond the shoals and the swell,
Or sail forever a shore less sea,
I know that all is well.
And I learn these things from the heart of the wood,
From the solemn soul of the sea;
For never a bird in a wire-bound cage
Told all these things to me.
And the soul of man is a sunward bird,
With wings that are made for flight,
To pierce to the fount of the shining day,
And float through the depth of night.
And I read these thing in that Bible of God,
Whose leaves are the spreading sky,
And the legible face of the dark green sea,
With the eye behind the eye.
For truth is not closed in the lids of a book,
For its chain less soul is free;
And never a bird in a wire-bound cage
Told all these things to me.
For truth surges into the open heart,
And into the willing eye,
And streams from the breath of the steaming earth,
And drops from the bending sky;
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'Tis not shut in a book, in a church, or a school,
Nor cramped in the chains of a creed,
But lives in the open air and the light
For all men in their need!
But the fish that swims in a goldfish vase,
Knows not of the salted sea;
And never a bird in a wire-bound cage
Told all these things to me.
'Tis the Voice that comes from the gilded peaks,
From the hills that shoulder the sky,
Through the topless heights of a man's own dreams
This Voice goes wandering by;
And who roams the earth with an open heart.
With an ear attuned to hear,
Will catch some broken chord of the sound
Whenever the Voice comes near.
But not past the prison of custom or creed
'Will the Voice or the Vision flee;
And never a bird in a wire-bound cage
Told all these things to me.
