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 N my haste I cried against Him, Faithful God and tender friend ; I let fall the hand that held me, And I would myself defend. Then for chastisement came scourging, When mine own hand held the rod, And I found myself more cruel Than had ever seemed my God. Deeper, deeper, sinking deeper, 'Mid the thorns and in the mire ; Still my heart held out against him, And my soul would not aspire.