Classic Poem

NEW J ERUSALEM J UNE

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

That Jesus, who stoop'd from his throne
To pluck such a brand from the fire;
wretch that had nought of his own,
Not even a holy desire!
By only inheritance sin,
A slave to rebellion and lust;
both without and within,
A child of corruption and dust.

Such was I when Jesus look'd down,
When none but himself could relieve:
What could I expect but a frown?
Yet he graciously smil'd, 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?

But no; in the strength he has giv'n,
And pledg'd his own word to bestow,
My fight through my passage to heav'n,
And sing of his love as I go!
He'll purge away nought but my dross:
Then let him afflict; I'll adore,
And cheerfully bear up, the cross
Which Jesus has carry'd before!