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 thy 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!
A crying voice has moved the posts
The Lamb is at your door
And notions from unholy ghosts
Will mar your view no more.
The ancient tune has been revealed!
His tempo now is set.
Your song is new, but precious still.
So sing the Lord's duet!
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