transl., Jane Borthwick, 1854
Tremble not, though darkly gather
Clouds and tempests o'er thy sky,
Still believe thy Heavenly Father
Loves thee best when storms are nigh.
When the sun of fortune shineth
Long and brightly on the heart,
Soon its fruitfulness declineth,
Parched and dry in every part.
Then the plants of grace have faded
In the dry and burning soil;
Thorns and briers their growth have shaded --
Earthly cares and earthly toil.
But the clouds are seen ascending;
Soon the heavens are overcast;
And the weary heart is bending
'Neath affliction's stormy blast.
Yet the Lord, on high presiding,
Rules the storm with powerful hand;
He the shower of grace is guiding,
To the dry and barren land.
See, at length the clouds are breaking --
Tempests have not pass'd in vain;
For the soul, revived, awaking,
Bears its fruits and flowers again.
Love divine nas seen and counted
Every tear it caus'd to fall,
And the storm which love appointed,
Was its choicest gift of all.