A Triumph Kept in the Unseen
Ere morn had learned to number out the days,
Ere dust had found its burden or its breath,
A charge was sworn beyond the reach of time:
That triumph walks with those who will not yield.
Not trumpet-born, nor raised by mortal boast,
But carried softly on unwearied wings,
A victory unseen by hasty eyes
Keeps faithful watch where sorrow plants its roots.
Its pinions bear the memory of flame,
Each plume a witness sworn in silent fire;
For victory is not the child of ease,
But heir to those made steadfast under weight.
Now mark the hour when trials have run their course,
When iron nights have pressed the faithful soul:
The onlookers draw near with searching gaze,
Their breath held fast, their tongues undone by awe.
They stare as those who thought the flame would win,
Who counted loss before the dawn returned;
Yet lo—there stands one schooled by hidden glory,
Unbowed in spine, unfractured in the light.
Persuaded not by pride, nor praise of men,
But by the hush of Heaven’s inward call,
I stand—no longer bent by borrowed fear,
My posture taught by covenant, not flesh.
Astonishment clothes every watching eye:
For scars still speak, yet rule no longer reigns;
The weight that should have crushed instead refined,
And suffering has lent me borrowed gold.
For as the silver sings beneath the fire,
And emeralds are born of ancient press,
As diamonds learn their strength by patient force,
So souls are shaped by trials deeply borne.
It hath been writ that fire shall test each work,
That faith, once tried, shines purer than before;
That sorrow, rightly borne, begets a crown,
And grief refines what glory shall reveal.
Thus persecution proves not God’s retreat,
But marks the kiln wherein His work is sealed;
No blade strikes true against the guarded heart,
No night prevails where watchful wings abide.
I have been pressed. I have been proved by flame.
I have been weighed by voices false and sharp.
Yet here I stand—astonishing the crowd—
Refined, not ruined; tempered, not undone.
I will not dim the light entrusted me,
Nor trade my radiance for gentler days.
I will not veil the shine that trials earned,
For darkness learns its limits at my glow.
I shine because the Keeper does not sleep.
I stand because His promise does not bend.
Protection is not chance nor fragile hope—
It is decree, unbroken, sure, and sworn.
The wings remain. The watch is firmly kept.
The triumph stands, though silence be its tongue.
And through all ages this one truth endures:
What God refines, He surely also guards.
I am protected. I am purified.
I am persuaded by eternal light.
Blessed be the Name that sealed my days in truth—
Blessed be the Name of Jesus, now and aye.
Written by Marguerite Grace
Copyright Protected
verse, possies, sonnets, and short stories 