CCXCI What, many times I musing ask'd, is Man,

Keep far from him? he knows not what he can,

What cannot bear.

He, till the fire hath proved him, doth remain

The main part dross:

To lack the loving discipline of pain

Were endless loss.

Yet when my LORD did ask me on what side

I were content

The grief, whereby I must be purified,

To Me were sent,

As each imagined anguish did appear,

Each withering bliss,

Before my soul, I cried, 'Oh! spare me here;

Oh no, not this!' --

Like one that having need of, deep within,

The surgeon's knife,

Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin,

Though for his life: --

Till He at last, Who best doth understand

Both what we need,

And what can bear, did take my case in hand,

Nor crying heed.