WATCHING FOR THE MORNING.
I'm a stranger and sojourner,
A pilgrim on the earth,
A sick and lonely mourner;
Few own my noble birth.
But I'm watching for the morning;
Oh! when will morning come,
And I change the world's rude scorning
For the fellowship of home? They call me strange and gloomy,
But oh! they little dream
Of the hopes that fill my bosom;
For I am not what I seem.
I am watching for the morning
When He who for me died,
In triumphant state returning,
Shall take me to his side. They often find me weeping,
When I cannot tell them why;
For they know not the deep meaning
Of my spirit's sympathy.
But I'm watching for the morning
Of a bright and glorious day
That shall hush creation's groaning,
And wipe her tears away. The earnest expectation
Of all nature is abroad,
Waiting the revelation
Of the real Son of God.
I am watching for the morning
That shall set the captive free,
And will change the chains of bondage
Into glorious liberty. I will get me to the mountain,
Till the shadows flee away;
I will ask me of the watchmen,
For the tokens of the day.
I am watching for the morning;
The night is almost gone;
I hear the note of warning,
I will hie me to my home.