Ye servants of the Lord,

Each in his office wait,

Observant of His heav’nly word,

And watchful at His gate.

Let all your lamps be bright,

And trim the golden flame:

Gird up your loins; as in His sight,

For awful is His name.

Watch; 'tis your Lord’s command,

And while we speak, He's near,

Mark the first signal of His hand,

And ready all appear.

Oh, happy servant he,

In such a posture found!

He shall his Lord with rapture see,

And be with honour crown’d.

Christ shall the banquet spread

With His own royal hand,

And raise that faithful servant’s head

Amid the angelic band.