Of waiting on your Lord.
The meanest offering ye can make -
A drop of water—for love's sake,
  In Heaven, be sure, is stored."

O by those gentle tones and dear,
When thou hast stayed our wild career,
  Thou only hope of souls,
Ne'er let us cast one look behind,
But in the thought of Jesus find
  What every thought controls.

As to Thy last Apostle's heart
Thy lightning glance did then impart
  Zeal's never-dying fire,
So teach us on Thy shrine to lay
Our hearts, and let them day by day
  Intenser blaze and higher.

And as each mild and winning note
(Like pulses that round harp-strings float
  When the full strain is o'er)
Left lingering on his inward ear
Music, that taught, as death drew near,
  Love's lesson more and more:

So, as we walk our earthly round,
Still may the echo of that sound
  Be in our memory stored
"Christians! behold your happy state:
Christ is in these, who round you wait;
  Make much of your dear Lord!"

  Bless'd are the pure in heart,
  For they shall see our God,
The secret of the Lord is theirs,
  Their soul is Christ's abode.

  Might mortal thought presume
  To guess an angel's lay,
Such are the notes that echo through
  The courts of Heaven to-day.