XCII. The divine Goodness in moderating Affictions.

GREAT Ruler of all Nature's Frame,
We own thy Pow'r divine:
We hear thy Breath in ev'ry Storm,
For all the Winds are thine.

Wide as they sweep their sounding Way,
They work thy sov'reign Will;
And aw'd by thy majestick Voice
Confusion shall be still.

Thy Mercy tempers ev'ry Blast
To them that seek thy Face;
And mingles with the Tempest's Roar
The Whispers of thy Grace.

Those gentle Whispers let me hear,
Till all the Tumult cease;
And Gales of Paradise shall lull
My weary Soul to Peace.