IDLERS IN THE VINEYARD.
By A. S.
Ho, idlers in the vineyard,
Why wasting all the day?
The Master soon is coming
To bear the fruit away;
Then closed will be thy mission,
The harvest will be passed,
The summer quickly ended,
And lost thy soul at last. Then rouse thee, idle gleaner;
Perform the work at hand;
Be earnest in thy duty,
And ready at command.
Fill well the place assigned thee,
Though hard may seem thy lot;
With Heaven’s approbation,
Be every ill forgot. Soon, on a cloud of glory,
Thy Saviour will appear;
All faces gather paleness,
And nations quake with fear.
Oh, then thy name he’ll honor,
And for thy service now,
A crown of fadeless glory
He’ll place upon thy brow. A mansion in the city
Whose glories far outshine
The sun in noon-day splendor,
Shall evermore be thine.
The jasper walls of Heaven
Shall echo thy refrain,
The anthem of redemption,
To Jesus who was slain.