The Son.
1 Father! I wait Thy word. The sun doth stand
Beneath the mingling line of night and day,
A listening servant, waiting Thy command,
To roll rejoicing on its silent way.
2 The tongue of time abides the appointed hour,
Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall;
The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,--
Then, every drop speeds onward at Thy call.
3 The bird reposes on the yielding bough,
With breast unswollen by the tide of song;--
So does my spirit wait Thy presence now,
To pour Thy praise in quickening life along.