1 Hark! the King of heav'n is calling
Laborers to do His work;
Go, saith He, into My vineyard,
Go at once, and do not shirk!
In the morning hours He seeks you,
When the dew is on the grass;
Serve Him then with young endeavor,
Ere the flush of youth shall pass.
2 Thro' the forenoon of their lifetime,
Ev'ry day and ev'ry year,
In His Church the Lord is calling,
Calling those that will not hear.
Noon and afternoon are passing,
And the shadows grow apace,
While so many still are standing
Idle in the market place.
3 Swift the twilight is advancing,
Bringing the eleventh hour;
One more call, O men and women,
Serve Him with your waning pow'r!
Then at last the quiet evening
And the sunset in the West,
When the Master of the vineyard
Calls the workers home to rest.