Suffering

Though my heart fails within me,
Though the sorrows of hell afflict me,
Though my enemy's power is great;

Though their prayers aren't for my mercy,
Though their weapons are drawn against me,
And though Satan say 'tis too late;

Though my enemy's number my name,
And my friends do the same,
I shall to the LORD offer praise.

A bitter root must be clipped,
And a gracious heart must be filled
By God's Hesed and by faith.

I make two prayers to God,
For His affliction is my rod
Of correction; and fate

Is not a thing, as I sing
And I have two choices to bring
Either God or to sate

Upon dainty morsels,
Or to rest on my paltry laurels
But here is what I pray:

"Establish my hand's good work
"And let me inquire in your church
"For all days, and enter through Thy Gate."