Charles H. Spurgeon on Psalms 17:3

"Thou hast proved mine heart:" —

What! take it at adventure, and not try

What metal it is made of? No, not I.

Should I now lightly let it pass,

Take sullen lead for silver, sounding brass,

Instead of solid gold, alas!

What would become of it in the great day

Of making jewels, 'twould be cast away.

The heart thou giv'st me must be such a one,

As is the same throughout. I will have none

But that which will abide the fire. 'Tis not a glitt'ring outside I desire,

Whose seeming shows do soon expire;

But real worth within, which neither dross,

Nor base alloys, make subject unto loss.

If, in the composition of thine heart,

A stubborn, steely willfulness have part,

That will not bow and bend to me,

Save only in a mere formality

Of tinsel-trimm'd hypocrisy,

I care not for it, though it show as fair

As the first blush of the sun-gilded air.

The heart that in my furnace will not melt,

When it the glowing heat thereof hath felt,

Turn liquid, and dissolve in tears

Of true repentance for its faults, that hears

My threat'ning voice, and never fears,

Is not an heart worth having. If it be

An heart of stone, 'tis not an heart for me.

The heart, that, cast into my furnace, spits,

And sparkles in my face, fall into fits

Of discontented grudging, whines

When it is broken of its will, repines

At the least suffering, declines

My fatherly correction, is an heart

On which I care not to bestow mine art. * * * * * * * *

The heart that vapours out itself in smoke,

And with these cloudy shadows thinks to cloak

Its empty nakedness, how much

Soever thou esteemest, it is such

As never will endure my touch.

I'll bring it to my furnace, and there see

What it will prove, what it is like to be.

If it be gold, it will be sure

The hottest fire that can be to endure,

And I shall draw it out more pure.

Affliction may refine, but cannot waste

That heart wherein my love is fixed fast. —Francis Quarles.