335    S.M.     John Berridge
Crosses at the Control of Christ. Heb. 12. 5; Job 5. 17

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.