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.

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 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.

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.

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.