Make, make me Thine, my gracious God, Or with thy staffe, or with thy rod; And be the blow too what it will, Lord, I will kisse it, though it kill: Beat me, bruise me, rack me, rend me, Yet, in torments, I'le commend Thee: Examine me with fire, and prove me To the full, yet I will love Thee: Nor shalt thou give so deep a wound, But I as patient will be found. |