Some need He sees the stone requires
He only can impart.
And while He works, sweet murmurings
Reach me from His great heart.

A stone lies in the quarry,
The Master bends above,
The hammer and the chisel
Are used alone in love.

It doth not make resistance,
This stone, but lies quite still
Beneath the Hand that shapes it,
According to His will.

Each stroke so sure and steady,
Rounds off the ruggedness
That only mars its beauty,
Nor addeth to its grace.

The One who wields the hammer
On this unsightly stone,
But seeks to stamp upon it
The impress of His Son.

We're stones in God's great quarry,
The world, from whence we're hewn,
And which the Master-workman
Prepares, where'er they're strewn.

The process is oft painful,
But oh, how better still,
A broken heart in God's hand
Than an unbroken will!

H. McD