"I will wait upon the Lord that hideth his face."—Isaiah.
Where'er thine earthly lot is cast,
Whate'er its duties prove,
To toil neath Penury's piercing blast,
Or share the cell of love,
Or 'mid the pomp of wealth to live,
Or wield of power the rod,
Still as a faithful servant strive
To wait alone on God.
Should disappointment's blighting sway
Destroy of joy the bloom,
Till one by one, thy hopes decay
In darkness and the tomb,
Should Heaven its cheering smile withhold
From thy disastrous fate,
And foes arise like billows bold,
Still, on Jehovah wait.
When timid dawn her couch forsakes,
Or noon-day splendors glide
Or eve, her curtain'd pillow takes
While watchful stars preside,
Or midnight warns the hosts of care
Far from his ebon throne,
Unwearied in thy fervent prayer
Wait thou on God alone.
But should he still conceal his face
Till flesh and spirit fail,
And bid thee darkly run the race
Of Time's receding vale,
