Due to the pain that was worsening in my hands and arms I have been on as much of a writing break as my self control has been able to succeed in. I have of course penned some lines here and there, and this poem was written in fragments, usually

“Satan has asked” (May it be abhorred!) “Satan has asked,” Now draws his sword. “To sift.” What does he seek To keep? And what to throw away? “As wheat.” Cast to the threshing floor Or to with flail beat. “But I have prayed,” (May that be weighed!) This must mean

Did you think To put you in a furnace Would not scorch your skin? To come out gold With easy glee And not the surfacing of sin? Or that boiling water hot Would like a warm bath Scathe you not? Like sinking in so comfortably To fire should come easily?

Oh sin, that dwells within That wages war and threatens To destroy my joy, ‘Tis sin that seeks to win The battle and mock at my defeat. Oh sin, that enemy within Crashing through my great resolve Outpouring words, I’ve cringed and heard Them, hasty and marking me a fool.