Gritty bits of unwanted sand, dirt, and grime From a life soiled by crime, Smudging and staining the picture of the soul Inside, almost nothing but a hole In the mirror. The reflection dims and then grows, Burning hot as it flows From dark to light, from day to night In a fire so bright That it sears the sand into glass, Painful in the pass, A clear, pure, clean image of the One Who sent His Son. The refiner's fire is not a tame One, for the Son came To melt the sin out of man, a fierce Fire of love from the hands pierced And hung to die upon the cross For all men, that from the loss Of our Father's presence from man's Fall We might answer His call And allow His love to consume us in His holy fire. The angel choirs Sing alleluias as the sin-stained soul Accepts His role As its Savior and begs for the cleansing power To burn away the sour And the ugly, the bitter and the rot. The fire begins not At the outside, encircling the sin, But rather kindles itself in The heart, filling it with love From above. Dirt and grime begin to drip off as the hot Flames scorch the rot, Forming an oozing puddle on the ground. As the fire burns the heart, a sound Of silent sorrow is heard, A word And a cry of pain. Why do you hurt me so? the soul asks above, Don't you love Me like you said? Give me back the soil So the hurt that boils And burns me will go away. But the wiser One Knows that the love of the Son Needs but a moment more to consume the man And change him from an Old, rotten creature of sin into an image of Himself, holy and pure and filled with the love That now loses its pain, For all the dirt gained By rolling in the mud of the world Has been hurled Away into the darkness, burned off in the light Of the Lord, the night Dissolving in the face of Day. No more gritty sand unbearably hot burns into the man's Soul, for turned into glass through His hands It loses its sting and reflects His light.