Jones Very (1813–1880)

FATHER, I wait thy word. The sun doth stand

Beneath the mingling line of night and day,

A listening servant, waiting thy command

To roll rejoicing on its silent way;

The tongue of time abides the appointed hour,

Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall;

The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,

Then every drop speeds onward at thy call;

The bird reposes on the yielding bough,

With breast unswollen by the tide of song;

So does my spirit wait thy presence now

To pour thy praise in quickening life along,

Chiding with voice divine man’s lengthened sleep,

While round the Unuttered Word and Love their vigils keep.