My song once soared
in praise to God.
(Let me be heard! Let me be heard!)
And still it soared with holy Truth.
(I was a bird! Sang like a bird!)
But Pride's earth-weights
must bring me low.
"Why me?" I cried,
not seeing Pride,
who stood unnoticed in the gloom.
Inside me raged a self-willed storm—
"I did so well," self justified.
"Not treated right," kept up the cry.
"Misunderstood; too soon passed by."
False storms cannot forever rage;
And with the clamor stilled,
Quiet Truth was heard,
Began to build
The new creature.
And in me stirred
The will to live the deed.
Spurn barren word.
The song now filling Sabbath air
Is freed from self,
Can treasures share.
Let all my song be prayer!
