Conceived within God’s secret thought,
My way was known and planned of old
That in affliction’s crucible
He should refine my heart as gold.
His searching flame would now destroy
All trace of base ignoble dross
To fashion for himself at length
A vessel, purified by loss.
And this I know: though fierce the blaze,
(for marred my gold by sin’s alloy).
My God has something still in me
No fiery trial can destroy.