Thursday, February 13, 2025

The Sovereignty of God

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. 

 [Isaac Watts]

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