Refined Through Fire
So often are the trials of our faith fired in the furnaces, refined
That hammer blows awaken snoring mind
Is this my grace? For purity? To fall so oft' upon my knees
In prayers of helpless beggar's pleas
What shall become of this, my living soul
That rises up then sinks into a hole
Where fears of death, of fires, of holy wrath
Yet hopes to find that shining golden path
For through the press and flicker licking flames
My soul is taught of God in all His Names
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