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.