And art not Thou more near?
Art Thou not love and power?
Vain is the help of man,—but Thou
Canst send deliverance even now.
4 Though through the future’s shade
Pale phantoms I descry,
Let me not shrink dismayed,
But ever feel Thee nigh;
There may be grief, and pain, and care
But, O my Father! Thou art there.