1 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 Savior,
Comes evermore to reign.
2 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.
3 Work, for the Day is coming,
Made for the saints of light;
Off with the garments dreary,
On with the armor 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.
4 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 are spreading
Tints of the rosy morn.
5 Work, then, the Day is coming,
No time for sighing now;
Prize for the race awaits thee,
Wreaths for the victor's brow.
Now morning Light is breaking,
Soon will the Day appear;
Night shades appall no longer,
Jesus, our Lord, is near.