Song Made Flesh
I have no glory in these songs of mine:
If one of them can make a brother strong,
It came down from the peaks of the divine—
I heard it in the Heaven of Lyric Song.
The one who builds the poem into fact,
He is the rightful owner of it all:
The pale words are with God’s own power packed
When brave souls answer to their buglecall.
And so I ask no man to praise my song,
But I would have him build it in his soul;
For that great praise would make me glad and strong,
And build the poem to a perfect whole.