Mercy To Him That Shows It, Is

But Poverty, With Most Who Whimper Forth Their Long Complaints, Is Self-inflicted Woe; The Effect Of Laziness, Or Sottish Write.

God 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.

Detested Sport, That Owes Its Pleasures To Another's Pain.

The Spirit Breathes Upon The Word And Brings The Truth To Sight.

We Bear Our Shades About Us; Self-deprived Of Other Screen, The Thin Umbrella Spread, And Range An Indian Waste Without A Tree.