MY PUREST LONGINGS SPRING
MY purest longings spring
From the divine,
The sweetest songs I sing
They are not mine.
I chisel the rude stone
With trembling hand,
The statue comes alone
At God's command.
Beyond earth's tainted air
I sometimes fly
On wings of faith and prayer;
Yet 'tis not I.
Not I but He who lights
My flickering creeds;
The Power that writes
My broken deeds.
Not I but God; for He,
My larger life,
Fulfils Himself in me
With ceaseless strife.