Oh! rest those straining yearning eyes;
Oh! drop those lifted prayerful hands,
And cease to long for Angel bands
To bear thy Spirit to the skies.
The earth you deem so poor a place
Is vaster than the heaven you seek;
This lowly portion of the meek
Is yet the highest point of space.
God give thee but the open eyes,
But let His fuller insight beam
Till every homely songster seem
To thee a bird of Paradise.
High heaven shall shine within the lake
The eye of God in every flower;
A pattern from the passing hour
The vast Eternity shall take.
The Message of the coming Day,
The herald Angel’s highest song
Shall greet you as you move among
The children prattling at their play.
So shall thy childlike contrite mind
The Master’s hidden meaning seize—
"Except ye be as one of these
Ye never can my kingdom find.”