Make, make me Thine, my gracious God, Or with Thy staff, or with Thy rod; And be the blow, too, what it will, Lord, I will kiss it, though it kill: Beat me, bruise me, rack me, rend me, Yet, in torments, I’ll commend Thee; Examine me with fire, and prove me To the full, yet I will love Thee; Nor shall Thou give so deep a wound But I as patient will be found.