It was the mid-week meeting,

The quiet hour of prayer:

The Master of Assemblies

Patiently waited there.

A look of pain and sorrow

Shadowed His face Divine,

"I cleansed ten," He murmured,

"Where, then, can be the nine?

Have they so soon forgotten

The sins I washed away?

Has not their Weakness taught them

The need to watch and pray?

On mountain and in desert,

Beset by Satan’s power,

For them I prayed and fasted,

Can they not watch one hour?"

They had not meant to slight Him

Because they did not go:

Their heart had never told them

That He would miss them so,

And so the Master waited

In loneliness and grace,

While they, alas! neglected

The holy gathering place.

Oh, Savior dear, forgive us,

We are so slow to come

To seek the blest communion

Of the quiet upper room:

Lord, give us clearer vision,

Thy loveliness to see,

Till naught shall so delight us

As fellowship with Thee.