The Church has waited long,
Her absent Lord to see,
And still in
loneliness she waits,
A friendless stranger she.
Age after age has
gone,
Sun after sun has set,
And still in weeds of widowhood,
She weeps a mourner yet.
Saint after saint on earth
Has lived, and loved, and died;
And as
they left us one by one,
We laid them side by side;
We laid them
down to sleep,
But not in hope forlorn;
We laid them but to ripen
there,
Till the last glorious morn.
The serpent's brood increase,
The powers of hell grow bold,
The
conflict thickens, faith is low,
And love is waxing cold.
How
long, O Lord our God,
Holy, and true, and good,
Wilt Thou not judge
Thy suffering Church,
Her sighs, and tears, and blood?
We long to hear Thy voice,
To see Thee face to face,
To share Thy
crown and glory then,
As now we share Thy grace.
Should not the
loving bride
Her absent bridegroom mourn?
Should she not wear the
signs of grief
Until her Lord return?
The whole creation groans,
And waits to hear that voice
That
shall her beauteousness restore,
And make her wastes rejoice.
Come, Lord, and wipe away
The curse, the sin, the stain,
And make
this blighted world of ours
Thine own fair world again.
|
