Lord, who hast suffered all for me,

My peace and pardon to procure;

The lighter cross I bear for thee,

Help me with patience to endure.

The storm of loud repining hush,

I would in humble silence mourn;

Why should th’ unburnt, though burning bush,

Be angry as the crackling thorn?

Man should not faint at thy rebuke,

Like Joshua falling on his face,

When the cursed thing that Achan took,

Brought Israel into just disgrace.

Perhaps some golden wedge suppressed,

Some secret sin offends my GOD;

Perhaps that Babylonish vest,

Self–righteousness, provokes the rod.

Ah! were I buffeted all day,

Mocked, crowned with thorns, and spit upon;

I yet should have no right to say,

My great distress is mine alone.

Let me not angrily declare

No pain was ever sharp like mine;

Nor murmur at the cross I hear,

But rather weep rememb’ring thine.