Tuesday

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his foot-steps in the sea
and rides upon the storm.
Ye fearful Saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan his works in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
and he will make it plain.
~William Cowper
Heard this in church on Sunday. In my entire lifetime I don't remember playing or hearing this hymn. Love the whole imagery in this poem.

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