When the great busy plants of our cities
Have turned out their last finished work;
When our merchants have sold their last order,
And dismissed the last tired clerk;
When our banks have raked in their last dollar,
And paid out their last dividend;
When the Judge of the earth shall say, “Closed for
the night,”
And calls for a balance—WHAT THEN?
When the choir has sung its last anthem,
And the preacher has made his last prayer:
When the people have heard the last sermon,
And the sound has died out on the air;
When the Bible lies closed on the pulpit,
And the pews are all emptied of men,
And each one stands facing his record,
And the books will be opened—WHAT THEN?
When the bugle’s call sinks into silence,
And the long marching columns stand still;
When the captain repeats his last order,
And they’ve captured the last fort and hill;
When the flag has been hauled from the masthead,
And from far fields all men are called in;
When each man who rejected the Saviour
Is asked for a reason—WHAT THEN?