|Son of God, Thy people's shield,|
Must we still Thine absence mourn?
Must we to death's triumph yield?
Thou hast said, I will return.
Gracious master, soon appear,
Quickly bring the morning light;
Dissipate the constant fear,
Turn our hope to joyful sight.
As a woman counts the days,
Till her absent one she see,
Longs and watches, weeps and prays,
So, dear Lord, we do for Thee.
Come, that we may see Thee nigh!
Come to feed Thy sheep in peace;
Hush for ever trouble's sigh,
Give us the desired release.