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The Book oj Praise.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill, He treasures up His bright designs,'
And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ;
The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace ; Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain ; God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
William Cowper. 1779.
The world can neither give nor take,
Nor can they comprehend The peace of God, which Christ has bought,
The peace which knows no end.
The burning bush was not consumed
Whilst God remained there ; The Three, when Jesus made the Fourth,
Found fire as soft as air.