In Peter’s words, an exile’s song,
To scattered saints both weak and strong,
A letter penned through tears and grace,
For pilgrims in a foreign place.
“Beloved, do not think it strange,
When fiery trials come to change
The shape of all you thought you knew—
For gold is proved by passing through.”
The flame that licks the silver clean
Removes the dross we have not seen,
And though the heat may bend the knee,
It only sets the spirit free.
Sometimes the path grows steep and worn,
The midnight long, the soul forlorn,
And whispered doubts begin to climb—
Has God forgotten me this time?
But Peter, who himself had failed,
Who watched the rooster’s call prevailed,
Knew well the Shepherd’s gentle hand
That lifts the fallen where they stand.
So fix your hope, the apostle pled,
On grace that meets you in the dread,
On Christ who suffered, scorned, and slain,
Yet rose triumphant over pain.
Our faith, more precious than the gold
That perishes when years grow old,
Is tested not to break or burn,
But polished till His face we learn.
So when the trial comes again,
And questions weigh, and skies of rain
Obscure the sun you long to see—
Remember Peter’s hopeful plea:
“Cast all your care upon the Lord,
For He sustains with steady chord
The ones He calls, the ones He keeps,
The ones for whom the Savior weeps.”
And though a little while we grieve,
A crown of glory we’ll receive,
For He who called us will restore,
Confirm, and strengthen evermore.
So walk, dear soul, through fire and flood,
Held fast by grace, redeemed by blood—
For trials shape what trials reveal:
A faith refined, eternal, real.