By William Cowper
1
God moves in a
mysterious way, His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
2
Deep in
unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sov'reign will.
3
Ye fearful saints,
fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
4
Judge not the Lord
by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
5
His purposes will
ripen fast, Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.
6
Blind unbelief is
sure to err, And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
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