"Lord, oh how long, I'm weary,"
My fainting spirit cried:
"A little while, be patient,"
The steadfast Word replied.

Lord, oh how long, Thy mercy lingers still,
Over a world for which Thou'st bled and died;
Over the souls of men, whose hardened hearts
Still spurn the love of Him they've crucified.
When will they add their sorrow to Thy love-
Sorrow for sin which nailed Thee to the cross?
Why will they count the immortal soul less dear,
Less to be valued than this poor world's dross.
And right be deemed but wrong,
And evil good,-how long?

What hast thou not endured from wilful man?
Surely Thy love has suffered long indeed,
Scorn from the world, indifference from Thine own;
Yet doth that love in patience wait, and plead.
When will the last loved soul be gathered in,
When shall I leave this sorrow-stricken scene?
When shall I see Thee crowned with many crowns,
Thou, who wast once the lowly Nazarene?
Exultant then my song-
Yea, Lord, but oh how long?

When shall it be ? I'm weary waiting Lord,
Weary of. self, my childish changefulness;
When shall I lay my shield and sword aside,
When shall I be like Thee?-oh wondrous grace!-
When shall I cease my waywardness to mourn?
When shall my heart with steadfastness be fixed,
Jesus alone upon Thyself, in joy,
And satisfaction, evermore unmixed?
I question, is it wrong
To ask, Will it be long?

When shall the bolts and bars of this my flesh
Break at the touch of Thy once pierced hand?
When shall the grave its vanquished power confess,
Yielding its captive prey at Thy command?
Rough is life's sea, its waves are merciless,
Strained are my eyes for just one glimpse of home-
Brief are life's joys, each breast its sorrow hath,
Weaning the heart, and thus the cry:"Lord come.
Grief makes the night seem long-
But faith hath aye a song.

Well do I know the certain joy that comes;
Sweet the reward. Then wait. I know He will
Meet every soul that trusts Him in the dark,
And bid each doubt and question to be still.
Ah, Lord I wait, but not for aught on earth,
Yea, and I watch, but not the shadows here,
That flee my grasp at every setting sun;
And leave but disappointment's bitter tear.
Soon Saviour Thou wilt come,
And I shall be at home.

Then shall the strings of this poor human heart,
Answer Thy touch in tones of joy alone.
Then shall the wail of minor chords be hushed,
Then shall eternal song replace the groan.
Then shall I read my answered prayers aright,
Pleaded so oft, and yet so long denied.
Then shall I feast my eyes upon Thy face-
And in Thy heart of love forever hide.
Give through the night the song,
That it may not seem long.

H. McD.