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.