"And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."
'T is sweet to feel that he, who tries
The silver, takes his seat
Beside the fire that purifies;
Lest too intense a heat,
Raised to consume the base alloy,
The precious metal too destroy.
'T is good to think how well he knows
The silver's power to bear
The ordeal to which it goes;
And that, with skill and care,
He'll take it from the fire, when fit
For his own hand to polish it.
'T is blessedness to know that he
The piece he has begun
Will not forsake, till he can see,
To prove the work well done,
An image, by its brightness shown,
The perfect likeness of his own.
But ah! how much of earthly mould,
Dark relics of the mine,
Lost from the ore must he behold,
How long must he refine,
Ere in the silver he can trace
The first faint semblance to his face.
Thou great Refiner! sit thou by
Thy promise to fulfil,
Moved by thy hand, beneath thine eye,
And melted at thy will,
O, may thy work for ever shine,
Reflecting beauty pure as thine!