Did you think To put you in a furnace Would not scorch your skin? To come out gold With easy glee And not the surfacing of sin? Or that boiling water hot Would like a warm bath Scathe you not? Like sinking in so comfortably To fire should come easily?

What will I do with satan’s thorn Lodged deep in weakest access point? No pill to take No treatment makes It well, no method has supplied A cure, Steps stumble; Backward falls The soldier, boldly with a limp But limping on He goes, he goes, A carefully crafted grin All

Now it seems His hand has turned Against you, Yes, has seen you sinking And has pressed your head Beneath the waves. You think “To catch a breath, ‘Tis one small favor, Can’t He see?” But yes, He sees; So why do gray skies Blacken more And gray waves Lash

“Skin for skin,” said that heartless snake “Though land and kin his God may take, But Job replies ‘Blessed be God’ Face down upon the tear soaked sod ‘He gave and He may take away’ Touch flesh! Will he respond that way?

Where does my contentment lie? In what do I most gather peace? In need of nothing, satisfied From endless craving to find release.