| IN THE CRUCIBLE (poem) |
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IN THE CRUCIBLE
Out from the mine and the darkness, Out from the damp and the mold, Out from the fiery furnace, Cometh each grain of gold. Crushed into atoms and leveled Down to the humblest dust With never a heart to pity, With never a hand to trust. Molten and hammered and beaten Seemeth it ne'er to be done. Oh, for such fiery trial, What hath the poor gold done? Oh, 'twere a mercy to leave it Down in the damp and the mold. If this is the glory of living, Then better to be dross than gold. Under the press and the roller, Into the jaws of the mint, Stamped with the emblem of freedom, With never a flaw or a dint. Oh, what a joy, the refining, Out of the damp and the mold. And stamped with the glorious image, Oh, beautiful coin of gold! -Author unknown 
How can we know anything about anything? That’s the real question |
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