When the har­vest is past, and the sum­mer is gone,
And ser­mons and pray­ers shall be o’er;
When the beams cease to break of the sweet Sab­bath morn,
And Je­sus in­vites thee no more;

When the rich gales of mer­cy no long­er shall blow,
The Gos­pel no mes­sage de­clare;
Sinner, how canst thou bear the deep wail­ings of woe?
How suf­fer the night of des­pair?

When the ho­ly have gone to the re­gions of peace,
To dwell in the man­sions above,
When their har­mo­ny wakes, in the full­ness of bliss,
Their song to the Sav­ior they love.

Say, O sin­ner, who liv­est at rest, and se­cure,
Who fear­est no trou­ble to come,
Can thy spi­rit the swell­ings of sor­row en­dure,
Or bear the im­pe­ni­tent’s doom?