He expecteth, He expecteth!
Down the stream of time,
Still the words come softly ringing,
Like a chime.

Oft times faint, now waxing louder
As the hour draws near,
When the King in all His glory,
Shall appear.

He is waiting with long patience
For His crowning day,
For that kingdom which shall never
Pass away.

And till ev’ry tribe and nation
Bow before His throne,
He expecteth loyal service
From His own.

He expecteth—but He heareth
Still the bitter cry
From earth’s millions, “Come and help us,
For we die.”

He expecteth—doth He see us
Busy here and there,
Heedless of those pleading accents
Of despair?

Shall we—dare we—disappoint Him?
Brethren, let us rise!
He Who died for us is watching
From the skies.

Watching till His royal banner
Floateth far and wide,
Till He seeth of His travail
Satisfied!