Classic Poem

How strange are his mysterious ways!
What numbers can his wonders tell?
My soul in vain the search essays,
'Tis high as heav'n, 'tis deep as hell.

Why did his hand, unsought by me,
Stop me in folly's fatal race?
Why teach my trembling soul, to flee
To Jesus for his healing grace.

Why did he melt my heart, with grief
My trespass in his ear to own?
Then sudden check sweet hope's relief?
And leave me hard again as stone?

Ah! did he ever thus forsake
The blind, who mourn'd for saving light?
Why suffer me one glance to take?
Then snatch the vision from my sight?

Was he, whose half-enlighten'd eye
Saw men appear as walking trees,
Left in the bitter misery
Of a bewail'd half-cur'd disease?

Cease, mortal cease, in plaintive strain,
Thy Maker's counsels to implead.
Wisdom and mercy guide his reign,
In righteousness his acts proceed.

How strange are his mysterious ways!
What numbers can his wonders tell?
My toil in vain the search essays,
'Tis high as heav'n, 'tis deep as hell.