Take my heart, O great Re­fin­er,
Plunge it in the cleans­ing flame:
Heat the fur­nace se­ven times hot­ter,
I shall still ad­ore Thy Name.
I shall hail its hun­gry roar­ing,
’Twill be mu­sic in mine ear,
If, amid its fie­ry an­ger,
Thy sweet gen­tle voice I hear.

Yea, I love Thee, great Re­fin­er;
Yea, I love the burn­ing light;
Dearer than the cost­li­est jew­el,
Sparkling, beau­ti­ful, and bright!
Is it true that I am wor­thy
Thus to be made pure from dross?
If I was not whol­ly cleans­èd
Wouldst Thou count it as a loss?

Oh, how won­der­ful Thy good­ness,
Far be­yond my high­est thought!
I can on­ly take, re­joic­ing,
What Thy tend­er care has brought.
Purged and tried as gold or sil­ver,
This is what I long to be;
Perfected, and want­ing no­thing—
Work Thine own sweet will in me.

Grand as­sur­ance! Thou art watch­ing
Most in­tent­ly all the while;
Welcome is the fin­ing pro­cess
Carried on be­neath Thy smile;
Or, if Thou in love with­hold­est
Thy felt pre­sence, it is well;
Faith shall tri­umph ov­er feel­ing,
Peace shall still with­in me dwell.

Welcome, wel­come ev­ery deal­ing,
Pain or plea­sure, joy or woe;
All is sent, O great Re­fin­er,
By a lov­ing hand, I know.
Daily cares which fret and grieve me,
Small and trif­ling, yet so keen,
Are on pur­pose to re­fine me,
Though by hu­man eyes un­seen.

Do not let me miss one tri­al
Which would make me pur­er still;
When Thine im­age shin­eth through me
Cease the fin­ing—not un­til!
When the sil­ver gleams and glit­ters,
From all earth­ly dross set free,
With no stain to mar its beau­ty,
Satisfied Thou then shalt be!