Monday, November 14, 2016

The Coming Choice

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
The Word we surely must obey
To ride the coming storm.

Ye fearful Saints, fresh courage take;
The Winds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Wry disbelief is sure to err
When miracles do come;
God is his own interpreter,
Hear thou the sounding drum!

Judge now the path that you will face
When earth and sea are tossed;
Will you the Comfort then embrace
And seek the wretched lost?

Or do you long to see the Son,
Finding your journey's rest?
Grace will abide with either one;
Choose now and e'er be blessed!



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