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International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 21, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 8.

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NO MORE TO DO.

By S. J. G. Thayer

BY S. J. G. THAYER.
ONE by one they are passing away, The strongest, the brave, and the true. They have toiled through the heat of the long summer day, They have borne heavy burdens for us who yet stay; They have borne with our murmuring all the long way; For them there is no more to do.
One by one they are closing their eyes, The watchmen so faithful and true; They have warned us of breakers and lowering skies, And when we were down they have helped us to rise, And we oft have repaid them with fault-finding cries,— For them there is no more to do.
One by one they are folding their hands, In token they've no more to do. The work has been started in far away lands, Grown broader and stronger wherever it stands, And the blessing of God has supplied its demands; To him is the glory all due.
One by one they are going to rest, The weary, the worn, and the true; No more to be censured, and sorely opprest While for us and the world giving all, and their best. The pain is all over—the resting how blest— For them there is no more to do.
Few are now left us to stand for the right, Of the old ones—the tried and the true. Though their voices are sounding with power and might, Yet we know they've grown feeble and weak in the fight, And we fear that they too will soon pass from our sight, Where for them there is no more to do.
Hearts are made sad, and the tear-drops will start When faileth our faithful and true, But the words of the martyr will come to the heart, And they ever do courage and comfort impart, "God reigns;" should the workers to-day all depart, His work he will carry safe through.
One by one they are laying it down, The sword they've been wielding so long, O who will come forward from hill-side and town, And gird on the armor, and fight for the crown? The long whitened fields are grown sere and brown, It's time for the weak to be strong.
One by one they are passing away, The old pioneers so true, Oh, green be the graves where our loving ones stay, And sweet be the resting till dawn of the day, And glad the awakening at morning's first ray, With life everlasting in view.