The mischief of the drawn sword is effaced,
The ear replaced;
The three denials thrice repented of—
Master, "thou knowest that I love
Thee." Tenderly, by slow degrees, the rough-hewn rock
Is chipped and chiseled to the perfect block,
The jagged points removed,
The whole polished and approved.
Upon this rock my church shall stand!
Invisibly the master hand
Remolds, transforms, refines
The heart to humbler lines,
Weans it from treacherous seas
To His own ministries—
Peter, impetuous, become the oracle of God,
Become shepherd of the staff and rod,
Laying aside
All malice and all guile and boastful pride;
Peter, the rock,
Become ensample to his flock.
Within the prison fetters fall;
A vision rises, Call
Nothing common or unclean
Of all that thou hast seen;
The lame revive and leap;
Dorcas awakes from final sleep;
The shadow of a great rock steals
Over a weary land, and heals.
