The cloud that shut Thee from our sight,
In dear old Bethany,
Is growing thinner, Lord, these days
Of war and tyranny.

It seems as though all heaven bends
To see the awful sight
Of nation against nation rise
In one most ghastly fight!

All gone!-man's cherished dream; all gone
Of bringing endless peace
Upon a world where man can but
His savagery release.

Ah, yes, the clouds grow thinner,
Lord, That hide Thee from our eyes;
And oh, the hope that we shall soon
Behold the glad surprise!

Yea, Lord, they seem so thin at times
That peering earnestly,
We almost see Thy shadowy form
Move in its majesty.

It seems as though all heaven's alert
Beyond that shadowy mist,
And that we almost hear the hosts
Preparing, as we list.

Yea, Lord, Thy clouds are passing fast:
Their faces, dark towards earth,
All brightness on their heaven-ward side,
Reflect Thy glorious worth.

But oh, those darkly rolling clouds
Which are not meant for us,
How threatening to the souls who are
Not sheltered by Thy cross:

Those clouds of judgment coming fast
Which every eye shall view,
When all the earth shall weep and wail,
And they who pierced Thee too.
O clouds of glory, haste, we pray:
Surround Him on the throne,
When every nation, every tongue,
Shall own Him Lord alone.

H. McD