He beats us out upon the anvil of the days And tempers us in strange and secret ways. He heats us in the passions and the joys And happiness of life—such fire employs; Then cools us in the sorrow and the pain— Heats us, and cools—then cools us once again; Till, if the iron be good, He makes us men, Or if the iron be poor, He scraps us then Perchance to try again another day To temper in some surer, sterner way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO FLUSH, MY DOG by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO MARY IN HEAVEN by ROBERT BURNS ROUEN; 26 APRIL - 25 MAY 1915 by MAY WEDDERBURN CANNAN SAINT TERESA'S BOOK-MARK by THERESA OF AVILA WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY by WALT WHITMAN THE NO-LONGER-MERRY ANCIENT MONARCH by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |