Hastening to Eternity

My soul, amid this stormy world,
Is like some flutter’d dove,
And fain would be as swift of wing
To flee to Him I love.
The cords that bound my heart to earth
Are broken by His hand;
Before His cross I found myself
A stranger in the land.

My heart is with Him on His throne,
And ill can brook delay,
Each moment listening for the voice,
“Rise up, and come away!”
With hope deferr’d, oft sick and faint,
“Why tarries He?” I cry;
Let not the Savior chide my haste,
For then would I reply:

“May not an exile, Lord, desire
His own sweet land to see?
May not a captive seek release,
A prisoner, to be free?
A child, when far away, may long
For home and kindred dear;
And she, that waits her absent lord,
May sigh till he appear.

“I would, my Lord and Savior, know
That which no measure knows!
Would search the mystery of Thy love,
The depths of all Thy woes!
I fain would strike my harp divine,
Before the Father’s throne,
There cast my crown of righteousness,
And sing what grace has done!”

—Robert C. Chapman