How slow the forming-
How hard some blows-
But I, the stone, much come to know
In my own person, my own soul,
Thy Will, Thy purpose here below.
O Master, now I plead to Thee,
Cut off my roughness, form my face,
Refine my feelings, make of me
A fit reflection of Thy grace.
Yea, haste the day when I may kneel
Before Thee and great Elohim.
Accept, peaceful in Thy home,
At last like Thee each grain of stone.
By: J. Devn Cornish
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