BURNED from the ore's rejected dross, The iron whitens in the heat. With plangent strokes of pain and loss The hammers on the iron beat. Searched by the fire, through death and dole We feel the iron in our soul. O dreadful Forge! if torn and bruised The heart, more urgent comes our cry Not to be spared but to be used, Brain, sinew, and spirit, before we die. Beat out the iron, edge it keen, And shape us to the end we mean! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BLACK REGIMENT by GEORGE HENRY BOKER NATURA NATURANS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH THE LAWYER'S WAYS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WRITTEN ON A WALL AT WOODSTOCK by ELIZABETH I FAUST: SCENE 1. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE |