"PERFECT, through sufferings:" may it be,
Saviour, made perfect, thus, for me!
I bow, I kiss, I bless the rod,
That brings me nearer to my God.
"Perfect, through sufferings:" be Thy Cross
The crucible, to purge my dross!
Welcome, for that, its pangs, its scorns,
Its scourge, its nails, its crown of thorns.
"Perfect, through sufferings;" heap the fire,
And pile the sacrificial pyre;
But spare each loved and loving one,
And let me feel the flames, alone.
"Perfect, through sufferings:" urge the blast,
More free, more full, more fierce, more fast;
It recks not where the dust be trod,
So the flame waft my soul, to God.
THE BREAKERS, June 1, 1858.