MORN, noon, and night,
Through days o’er cast 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 luster waneth now;
That other heavenly day,
With its enduring ray,
Shall soon light up my brow.
Oh! may I follow still,
Faith’s pilgrimage filfill,
With steps both sure and fleet;
The longed-for goal I see,
Jesus waits there for me,
Haste! haste! my weary feet.
J. N. D.