Hymn CXLI. Common Metre. Divine Counsels

Keep silence, all created things, And wait your maker's nod! My soul stands trembling whilst she sings The honours of her God.

Life, death and hell and worlds unknown Hang on his firm decree; He sits on no precarious throne, Nor borrows leave to be.

Before his throne, a volume lies, With all the fates of men; With every angel's form and size, Drawn by the eternal pen.

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

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

No creature asks the reason why, Nor God the reason gives; No favourite angel dares to pry, Between the folded leaves.

My God, I would not wish to see My fate with curious eyes; What gloomy lines are writ for me, Or what bright scenes may rise.

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