God moves in a mysterious way,
    His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
    And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
    Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
    And works his sov'reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
    The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
    In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
    But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
    He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
    Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
    But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
    And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
    And he will make it plain.

I was staring at my clock
As it was doing its tick tock
I was watching it do its job
And I started questioning
myself if I am doing mine.
Am I really doing my work?
Not the job I'm being paid for
But the work that I was made for.
I began to introspect, to see if
my job and my life's work intersect.
Have I given attention to everything else
And leave my purpose on the shelf?
This inanimate clock spoke to me
It said, you have all that you need
to be who you were formed to be,
It's all on the inside of you.
You just have to set your priorities
right and that is in your hands.