The Sovereignty of God Isaac Watts, 1674-1748 Keep silence all created things, And wait your Maker's nod; My soul stands trembling while she sings, The glories of her God. Life, death, and Hell, and worlds unknown, Hang on His firm decree; He sits on no precarious throne, Nor asks assent to be. Chained to His throne, a volume lies, With all the fates of men, With every angel's form and size, Drawn by the eternal pen. His providence unfolds the book, And makes His counsels shine; Each opening leaf, and every stroke, Fulfills some deep design. Here He exalts neglected worms, To kingship and a crown; And then the following page He turns, And treads the monarch down. My God, I would not long to see, My fate with curious eyes; What gloomy lines are writ for me, Or what bright scenes may rise. In your pure book of life and grace, O may I find my name, Recorded in some humble place, Beneath my Lord the Lamb.