The Church Has Waited Long

This is the original text of this hymn as it appears in The Bible Hymn Book (1845):

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 yet.
Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earth
Has lived, and loved and died,
And as they left us, one by one,
We laid them side by side.
We laid them down to sleep ,
But not in hope forlorn,–
We laid them but to ripen there
Till the last glorious morn.
Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

The serpent’s brood increase,
The powers of hell grow bold,
The conflict thickens, faith is low
And love is waxing cold.
How long, O Lord our God,
Holy, and true, and good,
Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,
Her sighs, and tears, and blood!
Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

We long to hear Thy voice,
To see Thee face to face,
To share thy crown and glory then,
As now we share Thy grace.
Should not the loving Bride
The absent Bridegroom mourn,
Should she not wear the weeds of grief
Until her Lord return?
Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

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.
Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

Words: Horatius Bonar, 1845.
Tune (Church Hymn): “Carlsruhe” Melchior Vulpius, 1609. (6.6.8.6)
Meter: 6.6.8.6.6.6.8.6.6.

This is the text of this hymn as it appears in Church Hymns (1871) where it is listed under General Hymns:

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 yet.

Saint after saint on earth
Has lived, and loved, and died;
And as they left us one by one,
We laid them side by side.

We laid them down to sleep,
But not in hope forlorn,
We laid them but to ripen there
Till the last glorious morn.

The serpent’s brood increase,
The powers of hell grow bold,
The conflict thickens, faith is low,
And love is waxing cold.

How long, O Lord, our God,
Holy, and true, and good,
Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,
Her sighs, her tears, and blood?

We long to hear Thy voice,
To see Thee face to face,
To share Thy crown and glory there,
As here we share Thy grace.

Should not the loving Bride
The absent Bridegroom mourn;
Should she not wear the weeds of grief
Until her Lord return?

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. Amen.