And oft we mourn his spirit fled,
When adverse tempests round us swell.
3But in those storms that sometimes roll,
Our mortal dwellings dark above,
Whose threatening shades dismay the soul,
Dwells the bright presence of his love.
4We cannot see him--not a ray
Of all his glory there appears,
And oft we thread our darkened way,
Trembling with anxious doubts and fears.