67.  Discipline

1
God’s hand that saves, though kind, seems rough;
His methods sometimes rude;
Frail shrinking nature cries, “Enough!”
Yet proves the Lord is good.

2
The temple stones God now prepares
Oft cry, “You hurt me sore”;
The Sculptor seeks their perfectness,
And trims them more and more-

3
Until, by dint of strokes and blows,
The shapeless mass appears
Symmetric, polished, beautiful,
To stand th’ eternal years.

4
Out of the crushed and mangled grapes,
Comes forth the sparkling wine;
If God but still my portion is,
Be such experience mine.

5
Kept while the furnace, heated white,
Shall purge the dross away!
Thy judgments, Lord, are true and right,
And brighter ev’ry day.