The Refiner's Gold
Frances E. W. Harper

He stood before my heart's closed door,
   And asked to enter in;
But I had barred the passage o'er
   By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands,
   To set my spirit free;
With wounded feet he trod a path
   To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold,
   The fire of love had tried,
And garments whitened by his blood,
   My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes,
   Its glamour was too bright.
He came with ointment in his hands
   To heal my darkened sight.

He knew my heart was tempest-tossed,
   By care and pain oppressed;
He whispered to my burdened heart,
   Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn,
   On barren mountains cold;
With love's constraint he drew me on,
   To shelter in his fold.

Oh! foolish heart, how slow wert thou
   To welcome thy dear guest,
To change thy weariness and care
   For comfort, peace and rest.

Close to his side, oh! may I stay,
   Just to behold his face,
Till I shall wear within my soul
   The image of his grace.

The grace that changes hearts of stone
   To tenderness and love,
And bids us run with willing feet
   Unto his courts above.

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