Flee as a bird, from the snare of the fowlers
Flee to your mountain ye faithful ones, flee,
Preening your wings, soar above earth's illusions,
Wing your flight far beyond sin's surging sea.
Losing the sound of time's turbulent billows,
Lashed into discord by sorrow and fear,
Flee from the snare of the merciless fowlers,
Rise till the heights of your mountain appear.
Fold not your wings, till you see the sure summit;
Rest not on hill-top, contented to stay;
Faint, yet pursuing, press onward and upward,
Love goes before you illuming the Way.
