The Refining

HENRIETTA A. FIELD

I am just a bit of shining gold,
Born of the mountains, rugged and old,
That gird the western sea.
Yet to those whose feet through the flames have trod
As they traveled the path from self to God,
A message do I bear.

In my rock-bound home, untouched by fears,
I waited with joy the coming years
When men my wealth would own.
But little I guessed what must lie between
That bed of ease and the goal of my dream,—
For in self did I trust.

Through purgings many, and ofttimes sore,
By pains that I never knew before,
The dross was cast aside,—
Till at length, through the fire and God's good grace,
There was graven deeply upon my face
These words: "In God we trust."

We grieve no more o'er suffering past,—
The truth that has filled our lives at last
By far outweighs it all.
Enriched by the loss, made meet for His will,
We may share with others the balm for all ill,—
In God alone to trust.