Watching for the Morning

“I am watching for the morning,
The night is long and dreary;
I have waited for the dawning,
Till I am sad and weary;
I am watching for the morning,
When the sons of God shall show
All their beautiful adorning,
So dimly seen below.

I’m a stranger and a sojourner,
A pilgrim on the earth;
A sick and lonely mourner,
Few own my noble birth:
But I am watching for the morning;
Oh! when will morning come,
And I change the world’s rude scorning
For the fellowship of home?

They call me strange and gloomy,
But oh! they little dream
Of the hopes that fill my bosom,
For I am not what I seem.
I am watching for the morning,
When He who for me died,
In triumphant state returning,
Shall claim the Church—His bride.

I will get me to the mountain,
Till the shadows flee away;
I will ask of all the watchmen
For the tokens of the day.
I am watching for the morning—
The night is almost gone;
I hear their note of warning,
I will this be to my home”