Matt. 1, 18; Eph. 3, 17, 18, 19; Phil. 3, 20. —Rotherham.
The waiting Christ came to the world,
The Truth, through virgin thought impearled,
Dawned slowly on the sleeping eyes,
Awaking wonder and surprise.
Yet waiting hearts saw joy afar,
The radiance of the morning star
That herald of the Life and Light
Which swept the darkness out of sight.
The waiting Christ of all God's years
Again to waiting hearts appears.
Still doubting Thomas stoops to feel
Where pierced the soldier's cruel steel.
Denying Peter, still with tears,
Mourns bitterly his coward fears.
But sweeping on resistlessly,
Above the mortal thought, we see
The Truth, with conscious power and might,
A victor in the Holy fight.
In stately majesty it moves.
Its work, its kingly birth-right proves.
No more in guise of Nazarene
Beside the Kidron's turbid stream,
Or on the Gallilean shore
With fisher-students, as of yore;
Nor in the earthquake or the wind,
The presence of the Lord we find;
No fiercely burning fire shall bring
To waiting hearts their looked for King.
But after these "a still small voice,"
Thou nearest, oh, my soul! Rejoice!
'Tis heard above the worldly din,
"A second time, apart from sin."
The "ardent waiters" know the tone,
And rise, their coming Lord to own.
Rooted and grounded in the Love,
Mighty to grasp the Truth above,
Christ's all-surpassing love to see—
God's fulness cometh thus to me.
Christ cometh to a waiting world,
And Joy, with banners all unfurled,
Flies shouting over land and sea,
"The Lord has come! 'tis He! 'tis He!"
Christ cometh to my waiting heart,
Where gladsome joy hath had no part;
But now her wings of light I see,—
The Lord hath come to me, to me!
