When the eagle finds her brood is fledged,
She stirreth up the nest;
Gently she fluttereth over it,
And breaketh up their rest.
She taketh them, she beareth them,
She spreadeth abroad her wings,
Then soars aloft to a purer air
Above terrestrial things.
Thus, when the heart with the cares of time
Is burdened and oppressed,
‘ Tis only the parent hand of love
That is stirring up the nest.
He found us in the wilderness
When no strange god was nigh,
He instructed us, He kept us
As “the apple of His eye.”
Now His wing is fluttering over us
And stirring up the nest,
For the Lord alone is leading us
To His bright and glorious rest.
The shining host of ransomed ones
There worship and adore;
Fulness of joy their portion is,
Pleasure forever more.
Then be glad when the Father teaches us
That this is not our rest,
And bless the hand of sparing love
That stirreth up the nest.
For those who know no chastisement
Are not the sons of God;
He chooseth His adopted ones
Beneath the chastening rod.
Thus, when the fond heart reareth up
A little ark of rest,
How soon the fluttering wing is heard
That stirreth up the nest!
But ah! He spreadeth it abroad,
And teacheth us to soar
To the realms of cloudless blessedness,
Where change is known no more.