In St. Luke's Gospel we are told
How Peter in the days of old
       &nbsp Was sifted;
And now, though ages intervene,
Sin is the same, while time and scene
       &nbsp Are shifted.

Satan desires us, great and small,
As wheat to sift us, and we all
       &nbsp Are tempted;
Not one, however rich or great,
Is by his station or estate
       &nbsp Exempted.

No house so safely guarded is
But he, by some device of his,
       &nbsp Can enter;
No heart hath armor so complete
But he can pierce with arrows fleet
       &nbsp Its centre.

For all at last the cock will crow,
Who hear the warning voice, but go
       &nbsp Unheeding,
Till thrice and more they have denied
The Man of Sorrows, crucified
       &nbsp And bleeding.
One look of that pale suffering face
Will make us feel the deep disgrace
       &nbsp Of weakness;
We shall be sifted till the strength
Of self-conceit be changed at length
       &nbsp To meekness.

Wounds of the soul, though healed will ache;
The reddening scars remain, and make
       &nbsp Confession;
Lost innocence returns no more;
We are not what we were before
       &nbsp Transgression.

But noble souls, through dust and heat,
Rise from disaster and defeat
       &nbsp The stronger,
And conscious still of the divine
Within them, lie on earth supine
       &nbsp No longer.