Four States Of The Soul Poem by Patrick Dennis

Fire purges in His fierce ecstasy all things of sap and clay
and takes to Himself - oh! - the refined and raptured brides of Fire.

Charcoal, well dried, longs for the Fire
and to be the incarnation of Fire.

Green wood splutters and resists
until by Fire to charcoal formed.

Wood, petrified, resists, not burns or yields
forever the heat-tormented enemy of Fire.

We here for cool drying dwell
wrapped round in a blue mantle.