I STOOD by the glowing furnace,
Into which was cast the sand
That had once been counted worthless,
Tossed by billows on the strand.

And I watched till all the darkness
From the burning heap did pass,
And it molten in the furnace
Seemed a flaming lava mass.

On his rod a workman gathered
Tiny bits of what seemed flame,
Rolling each upon his anvil
Till it crystal clear became.

Calm and quietly then were fashioned
From that molten sand such things
As seemed bright enough to gladden
The gay festive halls of kings;

Coming ready from the furnace
For flowers, water, fruit, or wine,
All in beauty, all according
To the master's wise design.

And I thought of all those beings,
Tossed upon life's weary strand,
Careworn, aimless, almost worthless
As the grains of ocean sand.

God could in His glowing furnace
These poor wretched souls refine;
Turning them to beauteous vessels,
To be filled with heavenly wine;

Water from the holy river;
Fruit the tree of Zion yields;
Flowers, fragrant, sweet, and precious,
Culled from the celestial fields.

Christian whom the Lord hath ransomed,
Wilt thou for Him gather sand?
Girt with love, wilt thou not venture
To the dark and stormy strand?

It is faith that in the sand-grains
Sees the goblet fit for wine;
It is faith that in the loathsome
Seeth souls that yet may shine.

Bring them, dark and lost, believing
There is no transforming rod
To turn beauty out of blackness
Like the wondrous grace of God.

If you cause a sinful Mary
On Christ's head to pour her balm,
You in heaven shall join the chorus
Of her hallelujah psalm.

Lead the poor degraded drunkard
To be filled with heavenly wine,
And thy face shall in his beauty
With a brighter radiance shine.

Oh, the beauty! oh, the glory,
Of the souls that God makes bright
Vessels for the marriage supper,
Shining like the stars of night.

Christian, whom the Lord hath ransomed,
Wilt thou for Him gather sand?
Girt with love, wilt thou not venture
To the dark and stormy strand?