This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1880 Excerpt: ... silver--is my soul all dross, That I must suffer trial, pain, and loss? Oh, for the Master's voice! Will He forsake? Here in the fires alone, must my heart break? Be patient, suffering soul! I hear thy cry. The trial fires may glow, but I am nigh. I see the silver, and I will refine Until My image shall upon it shine. ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1880 Excerpt: ... silver--is my soul all dross, That I must suffer trial, pain, and loss? Oh, for the Master's voice! Will He forsake? Here in the fires alone, must my heart break? Be patient, suffering soul! I hear thy cry. The trial fires may glow, but I am nigh. I see the silver, and I will refine Until My image shall upon it shine. Fear not, for I am near, thy help to be; Greater than all thy pain, My love for thee. Thy love for me! My Lord, is this the place Where I may see the shining of Thy face? Here may I learn Thy holy will to know, And into Thy dear likeness nearer grow. Unto this blessedness, may I aspire--To glorify Thee, even in the fire? Yes, even here! Oh, suffering one, be strong! This trial of thy faith may not be long. Even now, thy soul submissive to My will, Is learning how to trust Me, and be still. 86 SMALL THINGS. My everlasting arms do thee enfold. Precious thou art to Me, as most fine gold. I hear Thy voice, my Lord. I fain would rest, Secure in all my weakness, on Thy breast. But even now, though furnace fires burn low. My spirit trembles underneath Thy blow. Must there be trial still? Is there no sign--No likeness yet, upon this heart of mine? The silver truly may reflect My face, Yet must I fashion it, until the grace And fair perfection of its form I see, As chosen vessel, consecrate to Me. As many as I love, I thus refine. Thou shalt be fair indeed, for thou art Mine. I listen, and am still. I doubt no more. All quietly I rest--the strife is o'er. Thy chosen one! Can I resist Thy will, Or fear to follow Thee, through joy or ill? I may not understand the way I go. The perfect day will come--Then I shall know I Small QChings. DESPISE not thou small things; The soul that longs for wings To soar to some great height of sacrifice, too oft Forgets t...
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