My heart looks out toward Judah's hill,
But duty bids me "Peace, be still!"
While throngs pass by,
And songs of jubilee ascend,
And faith, and hope, and beauty blend
To make the day of sweet accord,
In which we greet our coming Lord—
Amen.
Sense whispers to my waiting heart,
"You'll miss the sweet, the better part,
By absence from the feast;"
But Love, omnipotent, supreme,
Dispels the shadow of my dream,
Reveals Communion ever here,
Dependent not on place nor year,
What then?
Small matter where my body is,
If I but love and worship His
Eternal will,
And, loving thus, some duty do
To prove my love and motive true,
Whilst sweet Communion whispers, still,
No time, no space, no self, no will,
But His.
