God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps on the sea, And rides upon the storm.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break, With blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace. Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face.

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 work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.

—Written by William Cowper d.1800; last hymn written before he descended into mental illness, from which he subsequently died.