How Long?

How Long?

My God, it is not fretfulness 

That makes me say "How long?" 

It is not heaviness of heart 

That hinders me in song, 

'Tis not despair of truth and right, 

Nor coward dread of wrong.

But how can I, with such a hope 

Of glory and of home; 

With such a joy before my eyes, 

Not wish the time were come 

Of years the jubilee, of days 

The Sabbath and the sum?

This life, how long it seems! 

And how can I in evil days, 

'Mid unknown hills and streams 

But sigh for those of home and heart 

And visit them in dreams?

Be calm, my troubled breast; 

Each restless hour is hastening on 

The everlasting rest. 

Thou knowest that the time thy God 

Appoints for thee is best.

Awake the cry, "How long?" 

Let now faintheartedness of soul 

Damp thy aspiring song, 

Right comes, truth dawns, the night departs 

Of error and of wrong.

These years, what ages they have been! 

Yet peace, my heart and hush my tongue; 

Let faith, not fear nor fretfulness, 

                          —Horatius Bonar