Thy ways, O Lord, with wise design
Are framed upon Thy throne above,
And every dark and bending line
Meets in the center of Thy love.

With feeble light and half obscure
Poor mortals Thine arrangements view,
Not knowing that the least are sure
And the mysterious just and true.

Thy flock, Thine own peculiar care,
Though now they seem to roam uneyed,
Are led or driven only where
They best and safest may abide.

They neither know nor trace the way;
But while they trust Thy guardian eye,
Their feet shall ne’er to ruin stray,
Nor shall the weakest fail or die.

My favored 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.