Fain would I rival thee
Monarch of birds
Soaring so loftily
Up to the clouds!
Spreading thy pinions
And mounting on air,
Ethereally floating
Divinely and fair.
Where is thy resting place?
Where dost thou dwell?
Is the mountain thy home
Or the stern rock thy cell?
Dost thou live in the desert?
Is the forest thy lair?
O, where is thy resting place?
Eagle, say where?
Always tending upward
May this be my aim;
Ne’er swerving from duty
Or shrinking from pain.
’Tis thus would I rival thee
Monarch of birds,
When soaring loftily
Up to the clouds.