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God works in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform:
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sov'reign will.
Ye feeble saints, fresh courage take:
The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break
In 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 are rip’ning fast,
Unfolding every hour:
But wait to smell the flower.
At Jacob's well a stranger sought
His ardent thirst to clear;
The Font of LIFE so near:
For LIVING DRAUGHTS had sigh’d; Nor had Messiah, ever kind,
Those living draughts deny’d. And Jacob's Well (no glass so true)
Britannia's image shows;
But who the Stranger knows?
Or soon her loss deplore:
Come drink, and thirst no more!,
SWEET Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bow'rs, the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ;