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Hope. |
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The cords that bound my heart to earth
Are broken by His hand ; Before His cross I found myself
A stranger in the land.
That visage marr'd, those sorrows deep,
The vinegar and gall, These were His golden chains of love
His captive to enthral.
My heart is with Him on His throne,
And ill can brook delay, Each moment listening for the voice,
" Rise up, and come away !"
With hope deferr'd oft sick and faint,
" Why tarries He ? " I cry ; Let not the Saviour chide my haste,
For then would I reply :
" May not an exile, Lord, desire " His own sweet land to see ?
" May not a captive seek release, " A prisoner, to be free ?
" A child, when far away, may long " For home and kindred dear ; And she, that waits her absent lord, " May sigh till he appear.
i I would, my Lord and Saviour, know " That which no measure knows !
" Would search the mystery of Thy love* " The depths of all Thy woes !
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