THE purple grape must be crushed
To make the sweet, red wine,
And furnace fires must fiercely burn,
The drossy gold to refine;
The wheel must cruelly grind,
Else where the jewel’s light?
And the steel submit to the polishing,
Or how would the sword grow bright?
How then, my soul, wilt thou
The Spirit’s fruits possess,
Except thou lovingly yield thyself
To the Hand that wounds to bless?
Then patiently let the fire
Consume all earthly dross–
Thou canst not hope to wear the Crown,
If thou refuse the Cross!
Daily Heavenly Manna
He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3