1 How simple are thy children, Lord,
Unskilled in what they pray;
Full oft they lift a hearty word,
Yet know not what they say.
2 For patience when I raised a cry,
Fresh burdens made me roar;
My foolish heart would then reply,
For patience pray no more.
3 So much my Master seemed to blame,
I thought to leave his school;
But now I learn to blush for shame,
And see myself a fool.
4 [I fancied patience would be brought
Before my troubles rose;
And by such granted help I thought
To triumph o’er my woes.
5 But Christ has cleared my misty sight,
And, taught by him, I find
That tribulations, working right,
Produce a patient mind.]
6 When our dear Master would bestow
Much patience on his friends,
He loads their shoulders well with woe,
And thus obtains his ends.
7 I must expect a daily cross;
Lord, sanctify the pain;
Bid every furnace purge my dross
And yield some patient gain.
Source: A Selection of Hymns for Public Worship. In four parts (10th ed.) (Gadsby's Hymns) #300
Berridge, John, born at Kingston, Notis, March 1, 1716, and educated at Clare Hall, Cambridge. In 1749 he was ordained as curate to the parish of Stapleford, near Cambridge, and in 1755 he was preferred to the Vicarage of Everton, where he died Jan. 22, 1793. His epitaph, written by himself for his own tombstone (with date of death filled in), is an epitome of his life. It reads:—
" Here lies the remains of John Berridge, late Vicar of Everton, and an itinerate servant of Jesus Christ, who loved his Master and His work; and after running on His errands for many years, was caught up to wait on Him above. Reader! art thou born again? (No salvation without a new birth.) I was born in sin, February, 1716; remained ignorant of my fallen sta… Go to person page >
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