O God, where art thou? where thy mighty throne?
Why is thy face unseen, and thou unknown?—
Source and support of all, why is thy form
Hidden from mortal eyes? when every storm
That sweeps athwart the dark and angry sky,
When all the bright and burning orbs on high,
When the deep sea that in its fury roars,
When all its beautiful and fertile shores,
When every river, hill and lowly dale,
When every mountain, tree, and flowery vale,
When every bird, and e'en the springing
Whisper aloud, “There is, there is a God!”
These are thy works; but where, O God, art thou?
Pavilioned in deep darkness, is thy brow
Hid in dark folds, ne'er to be drawn apart?
Will mortal never see thee as thou art?
Yes; when the wheels of time have ceased to run,
When yon bright orb its glorious, task has done,
Then will the veil be rent which once concealed
The throne of God, the mighty unrevealed;
Then human eyes will view his dwelling-place,
And saints, as angels, see him face to face.