Mrs. Pennefather

11.10.11.10.

NOT now, my child, a little more rough tossing,

A little longer on the billows’ foam;

A few more journeyings in the desert darkness,

And then, the sunshine of thy Father’s Home!

2

Not now; for I have wanderers in the distance,

And thou must call them in with patient love;

Not now, for I have sheep upon the mountains,

And thou must follow them where’er they rove.

3

Not now; for I have loved ones sad and weary;

Wilt thou not cheer them with a kindly smile?

Sick ones, who need thee in their lonely sorrow;

Wilt thou not tend them yet a little while?

4

Not now, for wounded hearts are sorely bleeding,

And thou must teach those widowed hearts to sing:

Not now; for orphans’ tears are quickly falling,

They must be gathered ’neath some sheltering wing.

5

Go, with the name of Jesus, to the dying,

And speak that Name in all its living power;

Why should thy fainting heart grow chill and weary?

Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour?

6

One little hour! and then the glorious crowning,

The golden harp-strings, and the victor’s palm;

One little hour! and then the hallelujah!

Eternity’s long, deep, thanksgiving psalm!