A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing now.
He replied, “Only waiting.”
Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day’s last beams are flown;
Till the night of earth is faded
From the heart once full of day;
Till the stars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and gray.
Only waiting till the reapers
Have the last sheaf gathered home,
For the summer time is faded,
And the autumn winds have come;
Quickly, reapers! gather, quickly,
The last ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of life is withered,
And I hasten to depart.
Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate,
By whose side I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear their footsteps
And their voices far away;
If they call me, I am waiting,
Only waiting to obey.
Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day’s last beam is flown;
Then from out the gathering darkness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread the pathway to the skies.