He sat by the fire of sevenfold heat
As He watched the precious ore,
And closer He bent with a searching gaze
As He heated it more and more,
He knew He had ore that could stand the test,
And He wanted the finest gold
To mould as a crown for the King to wear
Set with gems of a price untold.
So He laid our gold in the burning fire,
Though we fain would have said "Nay"
And he watched the dross that we had not seen,
As it melted and passed away.
And the gold grew brighter and yet more bright,
But our eyes were so dim to tears,
We saw but the fire—not the Master’s hand,
And questioned with anxious fears,
Yet our gold shone out with a richer glow,
As it mirrored a Form above,
That bent o’er the fire, though unseen by us,
With a look of ineffable love.
Can we think that it pleases His loving heart,
To cause us a moment’s pain? Ah, no.
But He sees through the present cross,
The bliss of eternal gain.
So He waited there with a watchful eye,
With a love that is strong and sure,
And His gold didn’t suffer a bit more heat,
Than was needed to make it pure.