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.