WORK, for the Day is coming,

Day in the Word foretold,

When, ’mid the scenes triumphant,

Longed for by saints of old,

He, who on earth a stranger

Traversed its paths of pain,

Jesus, the Prince, the Saviour,

Comes evermore to reign.


Work, for the Day is coming,

Darkness will soon be gone,

Then o’er the night of weeping

Day without end shall dawn.

What now we sow in sadness

Then we shall reap in joy;

Hope will be changed to gladness,

Praise be our blest employ.


Work, for the Day is coming,

Made for the saints of light;

Off with the garments dreary,

On with the armour bright:

Soon will the strife be ended,

Soon all our toils below;

Not to the dark we’re tending,

But to the Day we go.


Work, for the lord is coming,

Children of light are we;

From Jesus’ bright appearing

Powers of darkness flee.

Out of the mist, at His bidding,

Souls like the dew are born:

O’er all the East spreading

Tints of the rosy morn.


Work, then, the Day is coming,

No time for sighing now;

Harps for the hands once drooping,

Wreaths for the victor’s brow.

Now morning Light is breaking,

Soon will the Day appear;

Night shades appal no longer,

Jesus, our Lord, is near.


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