IV

THE GOODNESS OF GOD

YES, God is good: in earth and sky,

YES

From ocean-depths and spreading wood,

Ten thousand voices seem to cry,

"God made us all, and God is good."

The sun that keeps his trackless way,

And downward pours his golden flood, Night's sparkling hosts, all seem to say, In accents clear, that God is good.

The merry birds prolong the strain,
Their song with every spring renewed;

And balmy air, and falling rain,

Each softly whisper, "God is good."

I hear it in the rushing breeze;
The hills that have for ages stood,
The echoing sky, and roaring seas,
All swell the chorus, "God is good."

Yes, God is good, all Nature says,

By God's own hand with speech endued; And man, in louder notes of praise,

Should sing for joy that "God is good."

For all Thy gifts we bless Thee, Lord,
But chiefly for our heavenly food,
Thy pardoning grace, Thy quickening word;
These prompt our song that "God is good."
7. H. Gurney

V

THE GOODNESS OF PROVIDENCE

HE Lord my pasture shall prepare,

THE

And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noonday walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountains pant,
To fertile vales, and dewy meads,
My weary, wandering steps he leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horror overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill;
For thou, O Lord, art with me still :
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile;
The barren wilderness shall smile,

With sudden greens, and herbage crowned,
And streams shall murmur all around.

7. Addison

VII

PROVIDENCE

OD moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful 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 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.

W. Cowper

VIII

THE EMIGRANT'S SACRED SONG

WHERE the remote Bermudas

Win ocean's bosom unespied,

From a small boat that rowed along,
The listening winds received their song.

"What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze, Unto an isle so long unknown,

And yet far kinder than our own.

"Where He the huge sea-monsters racks, That lift the deep upon their backs; He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storm's and tyrant's rage.

"He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.

"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.

"O, let our voice his praise exalt
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."