As the gold that's melted down
and fired many times,
My Goldsmith with His crucible,
He melts me and refines.
Then with the gold that's purified,
that's clean and malleable,
He hammers into precious things,
and beautiful vessels.
His hammer falls until the gold
Is beaten crystal clear,
Till nothing's left but golden light
that shines for He is near.
The fire and then the hammer,
is that a price too high?
No, rather highest privilege that
He works with such as I.
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