Page:Hymns of the Marshes.djvu/67

 Or tone your gospels be—

Say wrong This work is not of me,

But God: it is not true, it is not true.

Awful is Art because 'tis free.

The artist trembles o'er his plan

Where men his Self must see.

Who made a song or picture, he

Did it, and not another, God nor man.

My Lord is large, my Lord is strong:

Giving, He gave: my me is mine.

How poor, how strange, how wrong,

To dream He wrote the little song

I made to Him with love's unforced design!

Oh, not as clouds dim laws have plann'd

To strike down Good and fight for Ill,—

Oh, not as harps that stand

In the wind and sound the wind's command:

Each artist—gift of terror!—owns his will.