1 The night draws on, I must away,
With hallelujahs close the day;
The sun sets in the western skies,
I never more may see him rise.
2 Arch angels chant your anthems high,
While on my grave-like bed I lie;
Your purple pinions spread around,
And let my sleep be sweet and sound.
3 And if I wake before the light,
Clad in the mansions of the night,
I'll think the last great day is near,
The trumpet sounds, and all appear.
4 Ye sons of men no longer dream;
Your life is like the rolling stream,
Like yesterday 'tis past and gone;
Prepare to meet the great Three One.
Hymns and Spiritual Songs for the use of Christians, 1803