Go, labour on; spend, and be spent;

Thy joy to do the Father's will;

It is the way the Master went;

Should not the servant tread it still?

Go, labour on: 'tis not for nought;

Thy earthly loss is heav'nly gain;

Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;

The Master praises, what are men?

Go, labour on while it is day,

The world's dark night is hastening on;

Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away,

It is not thus that souls are won.

Men die in darkness at your side,

Without a hope to cheer the tomb;

Take up the torch and wave it wide,

The torch that lights time's thickest gloom.

Toil on, faint not, keep watch and pray;

Be wise the erring soul to win;

Go forth into the world's highway,

Compel the wanderer to come in.

Toil on, and in thy work rejoice;

For work comes rest, the prize thus won;

Soon shalt thou hear the Master's voice,

The midnight cry, Behold, I come!