The Goldsmith

114 words·57s read
In bitterness, I lay,
Sleeping like a dejected soul,
Crying out tears of pain,
Asking God; how dare you?

Will you look unto me with such reproach?
Will you let affliction consume my soul?

He replied; who are you oh mortal to question my plan?
Is this pain a part of it too? I retorted.

Yes oh, Adam; for with fire you shall be tried
Till you come out pure as gold,
You shall be washed and purged
Until you come out white as snow.

Forgive me oh Lord for I have sinned,
I confess before you,
Help me I prithee to endure
’Till your work, at last, is perfected.
Amen.
∞ ∞ ∞
— Cotek
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