I WONDER if ever the hawk,
Sailing the depths of blue
In graceful motion at rest,
Longs to be tender and true
Like the sparrow guarding her nest ?
Does the tuneless bird ever long
For the lark’s rare gift of song?
Does he ever grieve at his lot,
Or quarrel in vain with fate,
If others are what he is not?
Does he ever deem it a wrong
To swoop on the sparrow’s mate?
I wonder if I shall find
The task for my hands and mind,
That for me is fittest and best—
In the doing of which is rest,
And weariness in not doing?
Ah! happy will be the day
When my toil shall seem like play,
And, whatever I am pursuing,
I shall see with as clear an eye,
And seize with as keen a zest,
As the hawk that drops from the sky
To pounce on the sparrow’s nest.
A. L. Carlton.