Fifth Sunday after Easter

One lesson more the Church must learn,
Ere her great Head to Heav'n return,
To claim His regal state:
The hardest for the human heart
To take in good and friendly part,
That lesson is — to wait.

The little mind of little man
Frets so within its little span,
Unless it sees and knows;
Restless in its activity,
It cannot in God's order see
The progress of repose.

From carelessness to over care,
Security to dark despair,
It ever wavers; till
It loses that bright golden mean,
Which lies so blessedly between;
Whose ' strength is to sit still.'

This lesson Christ His Church would teach,
Ere He had pass'd beyond the reach
At least of eye or ear;
He knew how every warning word,
The last on earth they ever heard,
Would be to memory dear.

On the lone mount, beyond the ken
And bustle of the ways of men,
His little band is met;
Never, thro' far off lonely years,
Thro' toils, and martyrdoms, and tears,
Will they that hour forget.

He knew their hearts, their love he knew,
Their ardent zeal to dare, and do,
It was not these He sought;
But what he wanted was the calm
And child-like waitings which embalm
All that to God is brought.

No worldly dream of human power
Must come to cloud that glorious hour,
Or mar the path they trod;
No vaunting trust in human might
Must tempt them to essay the fight,
Till strength come down from God.

They must be nothing, and lie still,
Waiting the Father's promise, till —
Baptised with heavenly flame —
They from Jerusalem go forth,
And east and west, and south, and north,
Their glorious Lord proclaim.

Thus in their weakness strength shall be,
And power in their humility,
And glory in their grace;
Thus, with clean hands, hearts pure and true,
They shall their ' Father's business' do,
And then behold His face.

So must we ever strive to prove,
In self-denying lowly love,
What we for Christ may be;
It is not what strong hands can win,
But what meek hearts escape of sin,
That He delights to see.

His Church hath times when she must rise,
And battle with her enemies,
And hold her place and state,
But she hath also seasons, when
Stillness becomes her best, — and then
Her glory is — to wait.