“I will. But My plighted troth saith, ‘Wait;’ And My love saith, ‘Work to-day;’ My meekness saith, ‘Be of low estate;’ And My longing, ‘Watch and pray;’ My shame and sorrow say, ‘Bear My cross;’ My song saith, ‘Win the crown;’ My guerdon saith, ‘All else is loss;’ My patience saith, ‘Be still,’ Till thou shalt lay the burden down, Then, when I will. Then, belovèd, the crown and palm, And then the music and the psalm; And the cup of joy My Hand shall fill Till it overflow; And with singing I strike the harp of gold I have tuned below, The harp I tune in desolate years Of sorrow and tears, Till a music sweet the chords repeat, Which all the heavens shall fill; For the holy courts of God made meet, Then, when I will.” |