"Father, the hour is come." So Jesus said
(His work well done);
His glorious heritage, before him spread,
Outshone the sun.
His words shall be my words. I need not wait
The world's slow turning
To bring the Christly daystar and abate
The heart's deep yearning.
The sad earth groans and grinds its labored way
Towards glimpsed perfection;
The tired sense seeks, day after weary day,
Love's benediction.
Not so with Mind, which speaks, and light appears;
A word—and splendor
Transmutes the ashes of frustrated years;
False fears surrender.
"Father, the hour is come." Here is my health,
Radiantly glowing;
Am I poor, naked, starved? Here is my wealth,
Boundlessly flowing.
Though seeming sin-stained, shamed by mortal strife,
Through Soul I stand;
Even mid shades of death, I am in Life.
Love holds my hand.
"Father, the hour is come." Thy brightness rising
Shines back through me to glorify Thy name.
No longer are the mists of earth disguising
Thy bounty evermore—and now—the same.
