3 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take I
The clouds ye so much dread,
Are big with mercy, and will 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 every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain ;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
17 (Brattle Street, C. M. D.) II. M. Williams.
i While thee 1 seek, protecting Power!
Be my vain wishes stilled ;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filled.
2 Thy love the power of thought bestowed ;
To thee my thoughts would soar:
Thv mercy o'er my life has flowed ;
That mercy I adore.
3 In each event of life, how clear
Thy ruling hand I see !
Each blessing to my soul more dear
Because conferred by thee.