THE REFINER.
‘Tis sweet to
know that He who tries the silver takes His seat
Beside the fire
which purifies, lest too intense a heat,
Raised to consumer the base alloy,
The precious metal, too, destroy.
‘Tis sweet to
think how well He knows the silver’s power to bear
The ordeal
through which it goes; and that, with skill and care,
He’ll take it from the fire when
fit,
With His own hand to polish it.
‘Tis blessedness
to know that He the work He has begun
Will not forsake
till He can see the work completely done;
An image by its brightness shown
The perfect likeness of His own.
But oh! How much
of earthly mold-dark relics of the mine
Lost from the
ore-must He behold! How long must He refine
Ere in the silver He can trace
The first faint semblance of His
face!
Thou Great
Reiner! Sit Thou, by, Thy purpose to fulfill;
Moved by Thy
hand, beneath Thine eye, and melted at Thy will,
Oh, may Thy work forever
shine,
Reflecting beauty pure as Thine!
-Selected.
