Ye ser­vants of the Lord,
Each in his of­fice wait,
Observant of His hea­ven­ly Word,
And watch­ful at His gate.

Let all your lamps be bright,
And trim the gold­en flame,
Gird up your loins, as in His sight,
For aw­ful is His name.

Watch, ’tis your Lord’s com­mand,
And while we speak, He’s near;
Mark the first sig­nal of His hand,
And rea­dy all ap­pear.

O hap­py ser­vant he,
In such a pos­ture found!
He shall His Lord with rap­ture see,
And be with ho­nor crowned.

Christ shall the ban­quet spread
With His own roy­al hand,
And raise that faith­ful ser­vant’s head
Amidst the an­gel­ic band.