As gold is refined in the furnace, So He fines the hearts of men. The purge of the flame doth rid them of shame, When He tries the hearts of men. O, better than gold, yea, than much fine gold, When He tries the hearts of men, Are Faith, and Hope, and Truth, and Love, And the Wisdom that cometh from above, When He tries the hearts of men.
POISON-SEEDS
Is there, in you or me,
Seed of that poison-tree
Which, in its bitter fruiting, bore
Such vintage sore
Of red calamity—
Black wine of horror and of Death,
And soul-catastrophe?
Search well and see!
Yea—search and see!
And, if there be—
Tear up its roots with zealous care,
With deep soul-probing and with prayer,
Lest, in the coming years,
Again it bear
This same dread fruit of blood and tears,
And ruth beyond compare.
Each soul that strips it of one evil thing
Lifts all the world towards God's good purposing.
THE WAR-MAKERS
Who are the Makers of Wars? The Kings of the earth.
And who are these Kings of the earth?
Only men—not always even men of worth,
But claiming rule by right of birth.
And Wisdom?—does that come by birth?
Nay then—too often the reverse.
Wise father oft has son perverse;
Solomon's son was Israel's curse.
Why suffer things to reason so averse?
It always has been so,
And only now does knowledge grow
To that high point where all men know—
Who would be free must strike the blow.