His wit invites you by his looks to come, But when you knock, it never is at home.
Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
In a fleshly tomb, I am buried above ground.
Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, Whilst meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray.
God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.