MORN, noon, and night,
Through days o’ercast and bright,
My purpose still is one;
I have one end in view;
Only one thing I do,
Until my object’s won.
Behind my back I fling,
Like an unvalued thing,
My former self and ways;
And, reaching forward far,
I seek the things that are
Beyond time’s lagging days.
The day declineth fast;
At noon its hours are past;
Its lustre waneth now;
That other heavenly day,
With its enduring ray,
Shall soon light up my brow.
Oh! may I follow still;
Faith’s pilgrimage fulfill
With steps both sure and fleet;
The longed-for good I see,
Jesus waits there for me;
Haste, haste, my weary feet!
I.N.D.