WAITING

Come to York Station I observed the folk
Who waited there:
Some read their papers; others heard or spoke
In huddles; some scanned mobiles, half-aware
Of life around them; all ignored the ads,
Shabbily over them; staffed propped a wall
Or barrow, dandered off, and paused again;
Some youths exemplified the latest fads
Of speech or clothing.  If asked they would all
Have said that they were waiting for a train.

The platform opposite seemed empty - till
The train moved out:
A camera-wielding huddle seemed to fill
The platform end; and no lens gazed about,
But all aimed up the track; and soon I saw
An ancient locomotive panting near,
Weaving its shawl of steam and smoke behind;
The power that drove her speed had power to draw
From papers, phones, homes, wives, and trade and gear
That waiting crowd, all of one view and mind.

My friend, you're waiting for the Lord to come
To catch away
His saints before His bright imperium
When every tongue accepts that He holds sway.
But are you waiting on the platform's length,
Distracted from the coming of the Lord?
Or are you at the platforms edge, no clog
Disturbing when He comes in grace and strength?
Come, friend: He's coming to be faith's reward,
And let us gaze towards Him, each heart agog.