Wherefore Dost Thou Longer Tarry?

Wherefore dost Thou long­er tar­ry

Blessèd of the Lord

afar?

Would it were Thy will to en­ter

To my heart

O Thou my Star

Thou my Je­sus

Fount of pow­er

Helper in the need­ful hour!

Sharpest wounds my heart is feel­ing

Touch them

Savior

with Thy heal­ing!

For I shrink be­neath the ter­rors

Of the law’s tre­men­dous sway;

All my count­less crimes and er­rors

Stand be­fore me night and day.

Oh the hea­vy

fear­ful load

Of the right­eous wrath of God!

Oh the aw­ful voice of thun­der

Cleaving heart and soul asun­der!

While the foe my soul is tell­ing

There is grace no more for thee

Thou must make thy end­less dwell­ing

In the pains that tor­ture me.

Yes

and keen­er still thy smart

Conscience

in my ang­uished heart

By thy ve­nomed tooth tor­ment­ed

Long-past sins are sore re­pent­ed.

Would I then

to soothe my sor­row

And my pain awhile for­get

From the world a com­fort bor­row

I but sink the deep­er yet

She hath com­forts that but grieve

Joys that sting­ing me­mo­ries leave

Helpers that my heart are break­ing

Friends that do but mock its ach­ing.

All the world can give is cheat­ing

Strengthless all

and mere­ly naught;

Have I great­ness

it is fleet­ing;

Have I rich­es

are they aught

But a heap of glit­ter­ing earth?

Pleasure? Lit­tle is it worth

When it brings no joy or laugh­ter

That thou wilt not rue here­af­ter.

All de­light

all con­so­la­tion

Lies in Thee

Lord Je­sus Christ

Feed my soul with Thy sal­va­tion

O Thou Bread of Life un­priced.

Blessèd Light

with­in me glow

Ere my heart breaks in its woe;

Oh re­fresh me and up­hold me

Jesu

come

let me be­hold Thee.

Joy

my soul

for He hath heard thee

He will come and en­ter in;

Lo! He turns and draw­eth to­ward thee

Let thy wel­come-song begin;

Oh pre­pare thee for such guest

Give thee whol­ly to thy rest

With an op­ened heart adore Him

Pour thy griefs and fears be­fore Him.

Thy mis­deeds are thine no long­er

He hath cast them in the sea

And the love of God shall con­quer

All the strength of sin in thee.

Christ is vic­tor in the field

Mightiest wrong to Him must yield

He with bless­ing will ex­alt thee

O’er what­e’er would here as­sault thee.

What would seem to hurt or shame thee

Shall but work thy good at last

Since the Christ hath deigned to claim thee

And His truth stands ev­er fast;

And if thine can but en­dure

There is naught so fixed and sure

As that thou shalt hymn His prais­es

In the hap­py heav’n­ly plac­es.