For, let me tell thee, coy recluse,
If we are gold, we must be tried;
If stones, we must be hewn for use,
Or by the builder cast aside.
The axe and chisel, we must bear,
To give us smoothness, shape, and size,
Are in the world—the furnace there;
For Heaven the gold and silver tries.
If we are salt to salt the earth,
Ah, then, our savor, to be known,
Must be diffused; for what ’s the worth
Of salt en masse, boxed up alone?
The touchstone, where we must inquire
If we have safely hid our life,
Is found in pitfall, flood, and fire,
Allurements sweet, and bitter strife.
Come out! behold the billowy seas,
The flowery earth, and shining skies:
Say wherefore God created these;
And then, fair Nun, thy beauteous eyes.
Was it for thee to turn and slight
The glorious things he spread to view—
To give earth, ocean, air, and light,
And freedom, for a dismal mew?
O! if beneath some lawless vow
To man, in self-delusion made,
An heir of heaven is brought to bow,
That vow were better broke than paid.
What binds thee here? or who shall set
His name endorsed a pledge for thee,
When Christ has died to pay thy debt,
And burst the tomb to make thee free?
The world’s the great arena, where
The fight of faith must well be fought,
And each good warrior seen to wear
The armor for the victory wrought.
How dost thou know but it may be
Thy foe, thy tempter, who has found
This cunning way to corner thee,
To keep thee from the battle-ground?