by Robert Crawford
The Song-god helps me mightily, and runs
Before life's purpose like a primal power,
Spirit in sense of all that I am still;
Whose flame burns in the heart, consuming there
The growth of that desire whose grossness would
Darken a dedicated soul, until
Within a sensuous lethargy it grew
Void of the God whose utterance is all.
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Last updated January 14, 2019