Nothing know we of the sea­son
When the world shall pass away;
But we know, the saints have rea­son
To ex­pect a glo­ri­ous day;
When the Sav­ior shall re­turn,
And His peo­ple cease to mourn.

While a care­less world is sleep­ing,
Then it is the day will come;
Mirth will then be turned to weep­ing,
Sinners then must meet their doom;
But the peo­ple of the Lord
Shall ob­tain their bright re­ward.

O what sac­red joys await them!
They shall see the Sav­ior then;
Those who now op­pose and hate them
Never can op­pose again;
Brethren, let us think of this:
All is ours, if we are His.

Waiting for the Lord’s re­turn­ing,
Be it ours His word to keep;
Let our lamps be always burn­ing;
Let us watch while oth­ers sleep;
We’re no long­er of the night;
We are child­ren of the light.

Being of the fa­vored num­ber
Whom the Sav­ior calls His own,
’Tis not meet that we should slum­ber,
Nothing should be left un­done:
This should be His peo­ple’s aim,
Still to glo­ri­fy His name!