300    C.M.     J. Berridge
“Tribulation worketh patience.” Rom. 5. 3

1 How simple are thy children, Lord,
  Unskilled in what they pray;
  Full oft they lift a hearty word,
  Yet know not what they say.

2 For patience when I raised a cry,
  Fresh burdens made me roar;
  My foolish heart would then reply,
  For patience pray no more.

3 So much my Master seemed to blame,
  I thought to leave his school;
  But now I learn to blush for shame,
  And see myself a fool.

4 [I fancied patience would be brought
  Before my troubles rose;
  And by such granted help I thought
  To triumph o’er my woes.

5 But Christ has cleared my misty sight,
  And, taught by him, I find
  That tribulations, working right,
  Produce a patient mind.]

6 When our dear Master would bestow
  Much patience on his friends,
  He loads their shoulders well with woe,
  And thus obtains his ends.

7 I must expect a daily cross;
  Lord, sanctify the pain;
  Bid every furnace purge my dross
  And yield some patient gain.