ADVENT.

The Church has waited long Her absent Lord to see; And still in loneliness she waits, A friendless stranger she. Age after age has gone, Sun after sun has set, And still in weeds of widowhood She weeps a mourner yet. Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! Saint after saint on earth Has lived, and loved, and died; And as they left us one by one, We laid them side by side; We laid them down to sleep, But not in hope forlorn; We laid them but to ripen there, Till the last glorious morn. Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! The serpent's brood increase, The powers of hell grow bold, The conflict thickens, faith is low, And love is waxing cold. How long, O Lord our God, Holy and true, and good, Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church, Her sighs and tears and blood? Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! We long to hear Thy voice, To see Thee face to face, To share Thy crown and glory then, As now we share Thy grace. Should not the loving bride The absent bridegroom mourn? Should she not wear the weeds of grief Until her Lord return? Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! The whole creation groans, And waits to hear that voice, That shall restore her comeliness, And make her wastes rejoice. Come Lord and wipe away The curse, the sin, the stain, And make this blighted world of ours Thine own fair world again. Come, then, Lord Jesus, come! —Horatius Bonar.