The Sovereignty of God
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748
Keep silence all created things,
And wait your Maker's nod;
My soul stands trembling while she sings,
The glories of her God.
Life, death, and Hell, and worlds unknown,
Hang on His firm decree;
He sits on no precarious throne,
Nor asks assent to be.
Chained to His throne, a volume lies,
With all the fates of men,
With every angel's form and size,
Drawn by the eternal pen.
His providence unfolds the book,
And makes His counsels shine;
Each opening leaf, and every stroke,
Fulfills some deep design.
Here He exalts neglected worms,
To kingship and a crown;
And then the following page He turns,
And treads the monarch down.
My God, I would not long to see,
My fate with curious eyes;
What gloomy lines are writ for me,
Or what bright scenes may rise.
In your pure book of life and grace,
O may I find my name,
Recorded in some humble place,
Beneath my Lord the Lamb. |
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