The searing heat of holiness
Even turns the faces
Of the angels humbly away
But never stops their song.
They sing His thrice-magnificence,
Against heat each braces;
His glory cannot be contained,
His vict’ry train runs long.
Without the fire-touch I am mute,
I can’t join the singing;
Atonement-tongs bring fire to me
To cauterize the rot.
The coal-burn spreads from branch to root,
The song ever ringing.
“Preach! Without this fire they won’t see;
Their ears cannot unstop.”
Though forest-fire leaves all in ash
And stumps are scattered ’round,
The Remnant-seed will sprout and grow
The Branch will bloom again.
He who wears vict’ry like a sash
Will rise out of the ground,
The fiery soil is best to sow
For freedom from all sin.