When
thoughts of pleasure or of pain
With which our life’s o’ercast—
When these by turns my heart enchain,
Whiche’er I dwell on last
If pleasure, then I think how short,
How transient will this be!
If
pain, oh! that is always fraught
With more than pain to me.
On earth our spirits cannot drink
Ecstatic joy too long,
And thus it is I often think,
Till thinking turns to song.
Oh!
when will my soul depart,
When will the moment come
For the spirit to quit its abode
And be called to its native home?
Impatient soul be still,
And wait God’s Holy Will.
Oh
when will my body die,
When will it ever rest?
Oh! in the grave let it lie
That the spirit may then be blest!
Impatient soul be still,
And wait God’s Holy Will.
I
long to leave the earth,
I long to see the sky,
For never will light shine through
The soul; till the body die.
Impatient soul be still,
And wait God’s Holy Will.
Thrice
has the voice* said “wait!”
And shall I then dispute?
Nay, rather let this heart,
These lips, be ever mute,
Than I be opposing still
My wish to His good will.
Then wait, my soul, oh wait
Until it please the Lord,
To take thee to that state
Eternal—blest—adored.
