The Church has waited long, Â Â Her absent Lord to see, And still in
loneliness she waits, Â Â A friendless stranger she. Â Â Age after age has
gone, Â Â 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, Â Â We laid them side by side; Â Â We laid them
down to sleep, Â Â But not in hope forlorn; We laid them but to ripen
there, Â Â Till the last glorious morn.
The serpent's brood increase, Â Â The powers of hell grow bold, The
conflict thickens, faith is low, Â Â And love is waxing cold. Â Â How
long, O Lord our God, Â Â Holy, and true, and good, Wilt Thou not judge
Thy suffering Church, Â Â Her sighs, and tears, and blood?
We long to hear Thy voice, Â Â To see Thee face to face, To share Thy
crown and glory then, Â Â As now we share Thy grace. Â Â 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, Â Â And waits to hear that voice That
shall her beauteousness restore, Â Â 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.
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