Harriet McEwen Kimball puts into verse a hopeful view of the triumph of
the Church:
Be patient! bide His time who will not tarry;
A thousand years He measures as a day.
All human plans, since human, may mis-carry;
His, never; keep His counsel, watch and pray.
Put up thy sword, He saith;
Be faithful unto death.
Since the first saints embraced His cross, and dying
No earthly triumph saw, yet were content,
On His dear Presence, tho unseen, relying,
His holy Church has walked the way He went;
Afflicted, destitute,
And sore from head to foot.
Thou yet shalt see her, all her trials ended,
Robed as in garments woven white of flame,
When He “by thousand thousand saints attended,”
Their lifted foreheads burning with His name,
Shall come to claim the rest
Who wait His advent blest.
She will be glorious; neither spot nor wrinkle
To mar the beauty of her holiness,
And all the nations which His blood shall sprinkle
The bride and bridegroom shall alike confess;
Forever one the twain;
Forevermore their reign! (Text.)
(446)