319    8s     J. Swain
Comfort under Affliction. Zech. 3. 2; 2 Cor. 1. 4

1 How light, while supported by grace,
  Are all the afflictions I see,
  To those the dear Lord of my peace,
  My Jesus, has suffered for me!
  To him every comfort I owe,
  Above what the fiends have in hell;
  And shall I not sing as I go,
  That Jesus does everything well?

2 [That Jesus who stooped from his throne,
  To pluck such a brand from the fire.
  A wretch that had nought of his own,
  Not even a holy desire.
  My only inheritance sin,
  A slave to rebellion and lust;
  Polluted without and within,
  A child of corruption and dust.

3 Such was I when Jesus looked down,
  When none but himself could relieve;
  What could I expect but a frown?
  Yet kindly he smiled, and said, “Live!”
  And shall I impatiently fret
  And murmur beneath his kind rod?
  His love and his mercy forget,
  And fly in the face of my God?]

4 Dear Jesus, preserve me in love,
  And teach me on thee to rely;
  Give wisdom and strength from above,
  Nor let me against thee reply;
  Then I thy great name will adore,
  And cheerfully bear up the cross,
  Nor wish thee to lessen the power
  Which purges my conscience from dross.