THE LORD'S LEISURE
| Tarry thou the
leisure of the Lord! Ever the wise upon Him wait; Early they sorrow, suffer late, Yet at the last have their reward. Shall then the very King sublime Keep thee and me in constant thought, Out of the countless names of naught Swept on the surging stream of time? Ah, but the glorious sun on high, Searching the sea, fold on fold, Gladdens with coronals of gold Each troubled billow heaving by. Though he remove him for a space, Though gloom resume the sleeping sea, Yet of his beams her dreams shall be, Yet shall his face renew her grace. Then when sorrow is outpoured, Pain chokes the channels of thy blood, Think upon the sun and the flood, Tarry thou the leisure of the Lord. |