Prov. 8: 12.
I 'm weary of awaiting!
The hours, with leaden feet,
Creep heavily, while hoping
My absent Lord to meet:
I count His days of absence;
How slow they seem to move!
Why tarries He, whose presence
I prize all joys above?
Should not the Bride of Jesus
Each hour His advent wait,
Whose love, than death, was stronger,
Beyond all reck'ning great?
The truest, warmest fervor
That human hearts can know,
Is, in its mid-day sunshine,
Cold as a taper's glow.
I long to see His glory;
I long to hear His voice;
I long, without a shadow
Of darkness, to rejoice:
To gaze on all the beauties
That shine in Jesus' face;
And feel that 't is forever,
I dwell in His embrace.
Those human, pure affections
God's hand hath formed so strong,
But shadow forth the heavenly,
Which to our Lord belong:
He 's Husband, Friend, and Brother,
All dearest ties in one;
His cross, the mighty magnet
Which our affections won.