The God of glory down to men
Removes His best abode,
—and when—
His own kind hand shall wipe the tears
From every weeping eye,
And pains and groans, and griefs and fears,
And death itself shall die,
—and the yearning cry of the last stanza, when the vision fades, has been the household ?† of myriads of burdened and sorrowing saints—
How long, dear Saviour, O how long
Shall this bright hour delay?