Another year its course has run,
And stamped its change on all below;
One more, on earth, has now begun:
How shall it end? None here can know.
The “little while” is growing less,
The Lord His promise shall fulfill;
He’ll come Himself His saints to bless,
And thus complete the Father’s will.
The hour is fixed, the day is near
When He will call them hence away;
His well-known voice each one shall hear
And pass into eternal day!
The open door shall then be closed,
The strong delusion come apace;
To Satan’s lie they’ll be exposed
Who did neglect the proffered grace.
Who would not hear that gracious voice
Inviting weary ones to come,
Shall then be left without a choice
To meet the sinners’ awful doom.
What voice is that which now we hear,
Whose sound the echoes still repeat?
“Behold the Bridegroom! He is near!
Go forth your coming Lord to meet.”
Ye sleeping saints, Awake! Awake!
And trim your dying lamps anew,
Our cloudless morning soon shall break;
That midnight cry calls loud to you!