The Crown of Dust

“The Crown of Dust”

I was born in mud, beneath the throne,

Dreaming of crowns that were never my own.

I raised my head to steal the sky,

And found the pain that makes men cry.

Pride is a torch that burns the hand,

It builds a tower on sinking sand.

The higher I reached, the harder I fell,

Until my name was a whisper in hell.

But when I bowed, and kissed the floor,

I felt His robe—was mine no more.

In ashes I stood, yet clothed in flame,

For He who is high gave me His Name.

Now dust I am, yet glory I wear,

Not from myself, but from His care.

Man’s pride will break—his heart must bend,

To rise through shame to the pride that has no end.