As the heat intensifies,
as the relentless, pounding,
hammer-falls tattoo my soul,
yet I lie still and wait.
Today, I am in the hands of the Master.
Here I have been broken and re-made
in the fires of His constant testing;
steeled by faith, in the forge of God's love.
What I shall become then, only God knows.
All is consumed, which bears no merit.
Thus, His purest motives remain
as my best intentions vanish.
Until I am conformed to His image
shall I hope to reflect His highest purpose?
Without mercy, I am ill-sighted to seek God.
Absent grace, no matter the aim, I miss the mark.
Now the bellows stoke the coals again.
God's will tempers my being into shape.
The grinding wheel of truth sharpens me
against the finest point of Christ's perfection.
In the furnace, God's heart, I am consumed,
no longer resembling what I once called "me."
The glint of the sheath may attract the eye,
but the sword, unleashed, pierces it through.