"Jesus' hour is not yet come;"

Let this word thine answer be,

Pilgrim, asking for thy home,

Longing to be blest and free.

Yet a season tarry on--

Nobly borne is nobly done.

While oppressing cares and fears,

Night and day no respite leave,

Still prolonged through many years,

None to help thee or relieve,

Hold the word of promise fast,

Till deliverance comes at last.

Every creature-hope and trust,

Every earthly prop or stay,

May lie prostrate in the dust,

May have failed or passed away;

Then when darkness falls the night,

Jesus comes, and all is light.

Yes, the Comforter draws nigh

To the breaking, bursting heart,

For, with tender sympathy,

He has seen and felt its smart:

Through its darkest hours of ill,

He is waiting, watching still.

Dost thou ask, When comes His hour?

Then, when it shall aid thee best.

Trust His faithfulness and power,

Trust in Him and quietly rest.

Suffer on, and hope, and wait--

Jesus never comes too late.

Blessed day, which hastens fast,

End of conflict and of sin

Death itself shall die at last,

Heaven's eternal joys begin.

Then eternity shall prove,

God is Light, and God is Love.