Crosses at the Control of Christ. Heb. 12. 5; Job 5. 17
J. Berridge S.M.
1
Poor angry bosom, hush,
Nor discontented grow;
But at thy own sad folly blush,
Which breedeth all the woe.
2
If sick, or lame, or poor,
Or by the world abhorred,
Whatever cross lies at thy door,
It cometh from the Lord.
3
The lions will not tear,
The billows cannot heave,
The furnace shall not singe thy hair,
Till Jesus give them leave.
4
The Lord is just and true,
And upright in his way;
He loves, but will correct us too,
Whene’er we run astray.
5
[With caution we should tread,
For as we sow we reap,
And oft bring mischief on our head,
By some unwary step.]
6
Lord, plant a godly fear
Before my roving eyes,
Lest some hid snake or wily snare
My heedless feet surprise.
7
Or should I start aside,
And meet a scourging God,
Let not my heart grow stiff with pride,
But weep and kiss the rod.
