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?

Did I hear my Savior cry And did I see Him suffer? Did He with sorrow and in grief Not ask “Is there another?” “Another way for death to die, Or must this bitter cup be mine?” “The only way?” He cried, He cried And knowing, yes, bowed and complied.