He does not sit enthroned on hardened steel,

or curve His face in frowns of stern despite.

His hand is never glibly raised to smite

nor quick His wrath to make His subjects reel.

He never sovereigns what He cannot seal

or captains darkness that He cannot light.

His mercies never falter in the night,

arriving stillborn after much appeal.

He spreads His mercies wide like stormy clouds,

and reigns in goodness over ev’ry land.

He looks with patience over clam’ring crowds—

provides the very breath their lungs demand.

The trees display their green and shady shrouds.

Creation prospers in His gentle hand.

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