Like Unto Servants

 We are like to servantsIn their Master's hall,Busied with our daily work, Waiting for His call. On the roof above usrows of bells are hung.One by one they summon each,With their clamorous tongue. Then, the servant biddenSaith 'That rings for me,'Leaveth off his present toil,Whatever it may be; Smootheth his apparel,Looks a farewell round,Passeth from his fellowsWhile the bell doth sound; Mounteth up the staircase,To his Lord doth go;Tarrieth in the upper rooms,Comes no more below. Oh, to be up yonderPressing near to God!Thus we pine and murmur,Counting service vain;But the loving MasterReckons up our pain. He, the unforgetting,Marks our every sigh;When our heart is heaviest,Comfort then is nigh. When our hope is faintest,And despair most strong,And the night gloom deepensRound the waiting throng, Then the welcome summonsSuddenly shall ring,And our glad steps hastenTo our Lord and King Frederick Whitfield1866