Poor angry bosom hush

Verse 1

Poor angry bosom, hush, Nor discontented grow; But at thy own sad folly blush, Which breedeth all the woe.

Verse 2

If sick, or lame, or poor, Or by the world abhorred, Whatever cross lies at thy door, It cometh from the Lord.

Verse 3

The lions will not tear, The billows cannot heave, The furnace shall not singe thy hair, Till Jesus give them leave.

Verse 4

The Lord is just and true, And upright in his way; He loves, but will correct us too, Whene’er we run astray.

Verse 5

[With caution we should tread, For as we sow we reap, And oft bring mischief on our head, By some unwary step.]

Verse 6

Lord, plant a godly fear Before my roving eyes, Lest some hid snake or wily snare My heedless feet surprise.

Verse 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.