1 Keep silence all created things,
And wait your Maker's rod:
My soul stands trembling, while she sings
The honors of her God.

2 Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown,
Hang on his firm decree:
He sits on no precarious throne,
Nor borrows leave TO BE.

3 Chain'd to his throne a volume lies,
With all the fates of men,
With every angel's form and size,
Drawn by th' eternal pen.

4 His providence unfolds the book,
And makes his counsels shine;
Each opening leaf, and every stroke,
Fulfils some deep design.

5 Here, he exalts neglected worms
To sceptres, and a crown;
Anon, the following page he turns,
And treads the monarch down.

6 Not Gabriel asks the reason why,
Nor God the reason gives;
Nor dares the fav'rite angel pry
Between the folded leaves.

7 My God, I ne'er would long to see
My fate with curious eyes,
What gloomy lines are writ for me,
Or what bright scenes shall rise.

8 In the fair book of life and grace
May I but find my name,
Recorded in some humble place
Beneath my Lord the Lamb.