1 Thy ways, O Lord, with wise design,
Are framed upon Thy throne above,
And every dark or bending line,
Meets in the center of Thy love.

2 With feeble light, and half obscure,
Poor mortals Thine arrangements view;
Not knowing that they least are sure,
And, the mysterious just and true.

3 Thy flock, Thine own peculiar care,
Though now they seem to roam uneyed,
Are led or driven only where
They best and safest may abide.

4 They neither know nor trace the way:
But whilst they trust Thy guardian eye,
Their feet shall ne'er to ruin stray,
Nor shall the weakest fail or die.

5 My favored soul shall meekly learn,
To lay her reason at Thy throne;
Too weak Thy secrets to discern,
I'll trust Thee for my guide alone.