Lord, Who Hast Suffer'D 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 The Unburnt Though Burning Bush, Be Angry As The Crackling Thorn? Man Should Not Faint At Thy Rebuke, Like Joshua Falling On His Face,[1] When The Curst Thing That Achan Took Brought Israel Into Just Disgrace. Perhaps Some Golden Wedge Suppress'D, Some Secret Sin Offends My God; Perhaps That Babylonish Vest, Self-Righteousness, Provokes The Rod. Ah! Were I Buffeted All Day, Mock'D, Crown'D 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 Bear, But Rather Weep, Remembering Thine.