The Stundist in Siberian Exile AND OTHER POEMS, William Fetler, 1922

very side. Still He proceeds as if He were The silver's bitterest enemy. He adds more fuel to the fire, He looks with unrelenting eye. At last He o'er the fluid bends, Which now reflects His smiling face. The mixture now is silver pure, A finished product free from dross; What seemingly at first was loss. And what so hard was to endure— The furnace heated seven-fold— Has come to be the highest good. The blessing indispensable, God's choicest blessing in disguise. 4 50 REFINING Now the sublime objective reached, The Great Refiner rests at last; The trying flames are cooling off, The furnace is not needed more, It was a means but to an end. . . . O heart of mine, do not despair ! Do not grow weary being tried. Grow rather weary of thy dross— Be glad to suffer loss supreme Until the face Immaculate, The Great Refiner’s matchless face. Will be reflected in thine own. November 16, 1919. PRESSING TOWARD THE GOAL 51 PRESSING TOWARD THE GOAL I will not consent to sin. Even though so oft I fall ; I will rise again to win— Pressing on toward the goal. Never will I make a peace, 'Twixt my spirit and the flesh; And the more it tempts to cease— I will start the fight afresh ! It’s a lie that I love sin. It’s the devil’s blackest lie— Since the Lord was bom within I have learned with Him to die. Now with steadfast single gaze At the Saviour of my soul. I’ll continue all my days Pressing on toward the goal. May 24, 1919. 52 MY LIGHT AND MY SALVATION MY LIGHT AND MY SALVATION Help on, 0 Lord, though darkness all around me. Thou Christ, my Light and my Salvation art; I will not fear with Thee as my Defender, And Thou wilt never more from me depart. Be near, O Lord, when friends turn into strangers, Those of one’s household, enemies become ; Then stand by me, Thou Friend who never changest, When all alone I have remained—then come. And in my loneliness, when chilly winds are beating, When trees do weep, and heavy stormclouds press— Speak Thou as Thou alone canst speak through sorrow, Help me to Canaan through the Wilderness. 0 Love Divine, sweeter than mother’s bosom !— Come on then, storms, I will not be afraid! E’er ye broke loose, your power was fought and broken— See on a pillow Him so calmly laid ! December io, 1918. FREE 53 FREE Romans viii. 2 “The law of the Spirit of Life in Christ fesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death .'’— Paul. Free ! Free at last! The spell of death is broken, The Spirit’s law hath truly set me free ! No more shall sin o’er me have its dominion. For I am dead and Christ now lives in me. Free ! What a charm this word now has ! What music! I wonder whether angels sing as sweet ? The serpent’s head is bruised ; the " Seed ” for me was wounded, And by His stripes my healing is complete ! Free ! But how dark and dismal, full of terrors. Was the lo