As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So when on earth things look but odd,
They’re working still some scheme of God.
No plan, no pattern, can we trace,
All wants proportion, truth, and grace;
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.
But when we reach that world of light,
And view those works of God aright,