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