H. Bonar


GO, labour on; spend, and be spent;

Thy joy to do the Father’s will;

It is the way the Master went;

Should not the servant tread it still?


Go, labour on; ’tis not for naught;

Thy earthly loss is heavenly gain;

Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;

The Master praises, what are men?


Go, labour on; your hands are weak,

Your knees are faint, your souls cast down;

Yet falter not; the prize you seek

Is near, a kingdom and a crown.


Go, labour on while it is day,

The world’s dark night is hastening on;

Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away,

It is not thus that souls are won.


Men die in darkness at your side,

Without a hope to cheer the tomb,

Take up the torch and wave it wide,

The torch that lights time’s thickest gloom.


Toil on, faint not, keep watch and pray;

Be wise the erring soul to win;

Go forth into the world’s highway,

Compel the wanderer to come in.


Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice;

For toil comes rest, for exile home;

Soon shall thou hear the Bridegroom’s voice,

The midnight cry, Behold, I come!


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