Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MASTER BLACKSMITH, by ARNOLD ANDREWS



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THE MASTER BLACKSMITH, by            
First Line: He beats us out upon the anvil of the days
Last Line: To temper in some surer, sterner way.
Subject(s): Blacksmiths; God


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.





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