In the furnace of sorrow, affliction, and care,
Refine me, dear Lord, and leave the dross there.
Oh, shape me and mold me in Your will today,
Since You are the Potter, and I am the clay.
I want to help others and speak words of cheer,
And hide all my heartaches, my sorrow and fear.
Lord, teach me to profit form suffering and pain,
Be quick to forgive and slow to complain.
And all those who sorrow, their eyes filled with tears,
May I be the one who can quiet their fears.
I want my influence and actions to be,
Filled, overflowing with true sympathy.
It may be some soul is close to the brink,
And it may be later than even we think.
So help me, dear Lord, that this prayer will come true;
Then may my life prove it in all that I do.
W. A. Bixler