Unsearchable the Sovereign Mind

Unsearchable the Sovereign Mind

Unsearchable the Sovereign Mind,
Inscrutable its reign divine,
Who’s hands of time shall wise unfold,
It’s myst’ries all, till all be told.

God forces earth, with all its ill,
His every wise decree fulfill;
Thus magnifies His high renown,
And mocks its warfare on His crown.

Man may as much earth’s spinning stand
By digging heels into its sand,
Or burning Newton’s notes in pyre,
As knock the crown from Heaven’s  Sire.

No scheme will breech His steel decree,
It smashes rebel’s hopeless dream.
He laughs as they their vine make ripe,
His presses waiting in the night.

For when man wrought the worst he could,
God there brought forth the greatest good.
The cross now praised through every age
In grateful love from those it saved.

From darkest deed of Adam’s clan
God raises up salvation’s plan.
Their worst thus chained as Heaven’s slave,
What’s left to thwart His plan to save?

Yet saints thus saved still doubt when tried,
To think God’s reign might be defied;
As though his foes, or his own deeds
Could sovereign mercy’s march impede.

Once shown by Christ to wav’ring man,
That he must in our judgment stand,
There Peter deems omniscience errs;
At vict’ry’s threshold finds despair.

And each can sigh that we partake
Of failure in the trial of faith;
Yet nought of earth, nor hell below
Have hands can heaven’s reign o’erthrow.

For blood would flow, and heaven hear,
And peace distill into their ears,
Where Satisfaction to the law
Would reconcile the sheep He’d call.

Yet heirs of that consoling cry
Stood looming in despair nearby,
Blind to the epic vict’ry played,
Despondent watching man be saved!

Then on Emmaus’ lonely road,
So wounded as they pensive trode,
Lamenting to the stranger, soon
To show to them His saving wounds.

Where what they took for pure defeat,
Eternity would prove too fleet
For praise to sate their grateful love,
Where lighted grace like heaven’s dove.

Until thus played, the best of men
Can broken be when trials offend;
Unreconciled within their hearts
Their coming crown, and erstwhile darts.

Disparaged God, when promise bare
Brings not its balm to Christian’s care;
To hold with joy, through suffering deep,
Its consolations while they weep.

Saints, now stare down the mouth of hell, 
And now its coming doom foretell;
It owns no power for all it’s rage,
God wrote the play, He owns the stage.

Within the bitter trial of faith,
Deep in the raging furnace blaze,
Appears the Lord so close t’is found
The flames burn but the ropes that bound.

Within the tumult of our doubts,
The Lord, unknown, is standing now,
Who will with grace in gentle hue
Appear and show Himself to You.

In Patience we possess our souls,
With joy we wait in faith’s repose.
Be not then joined with Canan’s ten:
God’s vict’ry never rests on men. 

Charles Church,
Started somewhere in 2022. Finished Easter morning 2023.