C. M. Doddridge. God Tempers the Wind to the Shorn Lamb. |
1 Great ruler of all nature's frame, We own Thy power divine; We hear Thy breath in every storm, For all the winds are Thine. 2 Wide as they sweep their sounding way, They work Thy sovereign will; And awed by Thy majestic voice, Confusion shall be still. 3 Thy mercy tempers every blast To those who seek Thy face; And mingles with the tempest's roar The whispers of Thy grace. 4 Those gentle whispers let me hear, Till all the tumult cease; And gales of Paradise shall lull My weary soul to peace.
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