1 Thy ways, O Lord! with wise design,
Are fram'd upon thy throne above,
And every dark or bending line
Meets in the centre of thy love.

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

3 Thy flock, thy own peculiar care,
Though now they seem to roam uney'd
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 favour'd 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.