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 to 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 with eager flight
Pass on till Thou appear—
That moment of unknown delight
Will soon be here.
And in that blessed day
When we around Thee dwell,
It will be bliss to hear Thee say,
“They loved Me well.”