O come; whatever fears Thy standards carry,
Or sorrows summon us, Lord, do not tarry.
Come, Lord; though labouring heaven whirl from its place,
And its perplexed paths no more can trace;
Though sympathising earth astonied reel,
And nature jarred cease its round to wheel.
Come, Lord; though sun refuse with rosy beam
To rise, and sickly drives a doubtful team.
Come, Lord; though moon look more aghast at night
Than when her cheeks with panic fear are white;
Though ominous comets through the dolorous air
Hurtle, and round their brow dread fire-wreaths wear;
Though spite of struggling sun Night's sudden sway
Impious and lawless seize the accustom'd day;
Mistimed Day, mindless of eastern glow,
Through moanings of forsaken Night should go.
Come, Lord; though father Ocean roars and lowers,
That his mov'd mountain-bars own other powers.
Come, Lord; whate'er Fear dares, e'en let it dare;
Let Fates do what they will, be Thou but there.
Come, Lord; with whate'er recompense of ill,
Whate'er Thy coming cost, O come, Lord, still.
Thee and Thine eyes, O what 'twill be to see!
Thee to enjoy e'en so, what will that be!
Let come what will, do Thou, Lord, only come. R. WI.