The church has waited long, Her absent Lord to see; And still in loneliness she waits, A friendless stranger she. Age after age has gone, Sun after sun has set; And still in weeds of widowhood, She weeps a mourner still. The whole creation groans, And waits to hear that voice That shall restore her comeliness, And make her wastes rejoice. Come, Lord, and wipe away The curse, the sin, the stain; And make this blighted world of ours Thine own fair world again.