1 ‘Mid Christian hosannas,
O’er conquering banners,
There breaks on our shouting a desolate cry;
With pitiful moaning,
With sorrowful groaning,
The guilty implore us for help ere they die.
Oh, work while ‘tis day,
For the light flees away,
And the hand of the toiler will soon work no more;
But the faithful will rise
To the Lord in the skies,
With the plaudit, “Well done,” when the toiling is o’er.
2 Oh, up and be doing,
Our duty pursuing,
Nor drown with rejoicing the wailing of woe;
Our hearts will be lighter,
Our path will be brighter,
The nearer our Master’s own footprints we go.
3 With watching and praying,
No longer delaying,
We’ll follow with gladness the voice of our Lord;
The field is before us,
The crown is just o’er us,
And working for Jesus brings precious reward.