A.J. Janvrin

HE expecteth, He expecteth,

Down the stream of time,

Still the words come softly ringing

Like a chime.


Ofttimes faint, now waxing louder

As the hour draws near,

When the King, in all His glory,

Shall appear.


He is waiting with long patience

For His crowning day,

For that kingdom which shall never

Pass away.


And till every tribe and nation

Bow before His throne,

He expecteth loyal service

From His own.


He expecteth―but He heareth

Still the bitter cry

From earth’s millions, “Come and help us,

For we die.”


He expecteth―doth He see us

Busy here and there,

Heedless of those pleading accents

Of despair?


Shall we, dare we disappoint Him?

Brethren, let us rise;

He who died for us is watching

From the skies;


Watching till His royal banner

Floateth far and wide,

Till He seeth of His travail



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