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.