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CONSUMING THE DROSS

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International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 3, 1890

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 16, No. 9.

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CONSUMING THE DROSS.

By Fannie Bolton

BY FANNIE BOLTON.
"The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." Rom. 8:18. "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." 2 Cor. 4:17. "Behold, I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction." Isa. 48:10. "I will make a man more precious than fine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir." Isa. 13:12.
Down in the earth in a dark, hidden vein Was a nugget of ore, And the pick of the miner touched it with pain That it knew not before. And the wise Master knew from the nugget of gold A rare treasure might come, fit for kings to behold.
It was loosed from its bed in the earth, and away From the nuggets it knew, Taken out of the dark to the broad light of day, 'Neath the heaven of blue. And the Master saw then there was dross with the gold, But a treasure was there fit for kings to behold.
Hot, hot was the furnace to the nugget of gold, And it melted with woe; For the flames of the furnace leaped up to enfold In a cruel overflow; And it quivered and moaned of its woe and its loss, While the flame of the fire was consuming the dross.
And the face of the Master bent down from above, As he sat to refine, And he looked on its anguish with pity and love That was deep and divine; But ever his love touched the flame to the place, Till the dross was consumed, and it imaged his face.
Then the flame of the fire no more hurt the gold, There was no more of loss; It mirrored the smile of the Lord in its mould, There was no more of dross. And the Master uplifted and then shaped it o'er To the fashion he'd thought of as glorious before.
He set it on high in his crown of delight, And it sparkled and shone, Till it seemed like a glad, golden star in the sight Of those round the throne; And ever it smiled on the Master's sweet grace, And ever it mirrored the love of his face.
So grew the crude, worthless nugget of worth, Through the finer's skill, And so, O ye poor, lost, sad children of earth, It is Heaven's glad will That ye may grow to Christ's radiant grace, And reflect the rare glory and light of his face.
If ye have been taken away from the past, From a dark, hidden vein, And have found the cruel flames of the furnace at last, With their touches of pain, Oh, know One is near you, who sits to refine! Oh, know Christ would fit you for glory divine!
Think not when the flame seems about to devour, That you're suffering loss; When joys fade away that you've cherished before— It is only the dross. Only the dross will be lost from your hold, And all that is left will be gold, purest gold.
Hear what the Master has said in his love To the children of earth: "I will make a man precious, I'll refine him and prove, And make him of worth. As the gold wedge of Ophir, all solid with weight, I'll make a man precious and holy and great."
Then, then when the furnace is seven times hot, Pray for grace to endure. The Lord is most near thee, he has not forgot, He would make thee all pure. 'Tis a furnace of love, and, oh, wonder untold! The Refiner himself's in the fire with his gold.
He knows all the pain, feels the flame, and the loss, But his love bids him wait Till the fire at last has consumed all the dross, And then he'll elate, By and by, when on high in his crown thou shalt shine, How glad thou wilt be for this furnace of thine!