First I shall name the eagle, of which there are three species:

Hear, O children of nature and seekers of wisdom, the words of William Bartram, the wanderer and recorder of America’s wild places: “First I shall name the eagle, of which there are three species: the great grey eagle is the largest, of great strength and high flight; he chiefly preys on fawns and other young quadrupeds.” What at first appears as the cool observation of a naturalist is in truth a hymn to the majesty of creation. In the naming of the eagle, Bartram reveals not only the habits of a bird, but the eternal symbols of power, freedom, and the struggle of life itself.

The origin of this saying lies in Bartram’s journeys through the forests and rivers of eighteenth-century America, where he recorded with reverence the plants, animals, and peoples he encountered. To him, the eagle was not a mere bird of prey, but a living emblem of strength and endurance. By noting its “high flight” and its dominion over the young of the forest, he was bearing witness to nature’s unyielding order: the strong will rise, the weak will be tested, and in this balance life endures.

The eagle, in every age, has stood as a symbol of nobility and power. The Romans carried its image upon their standards, believing its soaring wings reflected the might of their empire. The prophets of Israel spoke of those who wait upon the Lord as mounting up with wings like eagles, rising above weariness into renewed strength. And in the new nation of America, the eagle was chosen as a national emblem, embodying freedom and vigilance. Bartram’s words, though simple, echo these ancient truths: that in the eagle’s great grey form, we glimpse the eternal striving of spirit and body.

Yet let us not see only glory. Bartram reminds us that the eagle “preys on fawns and other young quadrupeds.” In this is the hard law of nature—that strength must feed, that survival often requires the fall of the innocent. To the ancients, this was not cruelty, but the rhythm of the world. So too in our lives, strength carries both beauty and severity. The eagle’s soaring is wondrous, but its talons are sharp; to embrace strength is to accept both its majesty and its burden.

Consider the story of the Cherokee people, who honored the eagle as sacred. Its feathers were used in ceremonies of healing and war, seen as conduits of divine power. They watched its high flight and learned lessons of courage; they respected its hunt and learned lessons of balance. Just as Bartram described, the eagle was both noble and fierce. The Cherokee knew, as Bartram did, that strength without responsibility can become destruction, but strength guided by reverence becomes wisdom.

O listeners, take this teaching to heart: in the eagle we see ourselves. We are born with the power to soar high, to rise above the common path. But we also bear talons, capable of harm. Our calling is not to deny strength, but to wield it with awareness, to rise high without forgetting the earth beneath us. Just as the eagle preys to survive, so too must we strive and struggle—but let our striving be tempered with justice, so that our flight does not destroy what we were meant to protect.

Practical is this counsel: look upon your own strengths as wings. Cultivate them, train them, let them carry you beyond fear. But also know your talons—the power you wield over others in word, in deed, in influence. Use them wisely, and not for cruelty. Honor your gifts as sacred, as the eagle is sacred, and they will lift you and those around you into a higher flight.

Thus remember the words of William Bartram: “The great grey eagle is the largest, of great strength and high flight.” Let them remind you that strength is both gift and responsibility, that high flight is both privilege and calling. And may you, like the eagle, soar with majesty, but always with eyes keen to the balance of the world below.