Waiting for His coming, toiling as I wait;
But a humble worker, in His vast estate;
Yet my single talent must not idle lie,
He will ask the increase of me by and by.
Waiting for the coming of the King of kings!
Be it soon or late, I’m working as I wait;
How my heart rejoices, of His glory sings,
Waiting for the King of kings.
Tho’ my lot be weary—toiling since the spring,
Yet a time of resting cometh with my king;
Now the whitened harvest waits the willing hand,
And the call for reapers soundeth through the land.
Toiling in the morning, ’neath the sun-bright ray;
Toiling still when evening draws his curtains gray;
Yet though often troubled—weary of earth’s guile,
All will be forgotten, when I see His smile.