In the Furnace by V. N. Cudworth

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 24, 1866

In the Furnace.

By V. N. Cudworth

“Behold I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.”

Thou'st loved me child, beneath a cloudless sky, Cheered by the sunshine of my loving eye; Folded beneath my wing like some frail blossom, And cradled on my great sustaining bosom. But something more than surface work I'd show, How deep those roots of love have grasped below; And if the tree is healthy at its core, It will not break, though low it bendeth o'er.

I'd prove the long endurance of that heart, To keep its song, when all but me depart; Yea more! I'll hide from thee my loving face, While Satan tempts thee sorely in its place. I'll bring an armed force of evils round, While troubles seem to rise as from the ground; The storm above thee fearfully shall roar, The furnace 'neath thee, threaten to devour.

Though like a feather on the world's dark sea, The sport of every envious gale thou be; I'm sailing with thee, all the way so wild, Thou ne'er before wast half so dear, my child. Oppressed, forsaken, yet the world shall know, Saints can rely upon my word below; And every grief shall make you strong through grace, 'Till like a giant, thou shalt run the race.

I've seen thee when stern anguish shook thy frame, Lingered to soothe thee in that hour of pain; Long after slumber lulled thee in sweet rest, Have painted visions for thy troubled breast. When false friends caused my tempted child to sigh, They touched through you, the apple of my eye; Fear not, for lo! thy Maker he is strong, And will avenge that dark and cruel wrong.

I loved thee when the smile was on thy lip, But better far when suffering paled thy cheek; Thy persecution, loss, each trickling tear, Are daily adding to thy treasure here. I'd make thee from this bitter chalice free, But all must drink the bitter cup with me; When in the furnace thou art purified, Thou shalt be numbered with my true and tried.

Through all thy conflicts, I am by thy side, I'll bear thee up 'till thou art sanctified; Though fame for thee, records no glory here, Thy name's in Heaven, therefore do not fear. Thy laurels here are green, thy sparkling crown, Would dazzle mortal eyes to look upon; "Without the camp" I went; suffer and pray, Thou'lt find my footprints all the lonely way. V. N. CUDWORTH.