Inquire, my soul, inquire,
What doth the watchman say?
To the one object of desire
Upon his way.
What doth the watchman say,
Whose cry the slumberer wakes?
"The night hath nearly passed away,
The morning breaks,"
"The night is coming too—
A night of speechless woe,
But there shall be no night for you
Who Jesus know."
Take up the watchman's word,
Repeat the midnight cry:
Prepare to meet your coming
Lord; The time draws nigh,
Come, whosoever will,
Ere God's right hand He leaves;
He waits till He His bosom fill
With all His sheaves.
Make ready, O my soul,
Make ready, brethren dear;
Send up the heart's burnt offering whole,
Your Lord is near.
Be found of Him in peace,
Hush'd be the sounds of strife;
Come quickly! Bring us full release
O Lord our life.
The hours of eager flight
Pass on, till Thou appear—
That moment of supreme delight
Will soon be here.