Nothing Know We of the Season

Nothing know we of the sea­son

When the world shall pass away;

But we know

the saints have rea­son

To ex­pect a glo­ri­ous day;

When the Sav­ior shall re­turn

And His peo­ple cease to mourn.

While a care­less world is sleep­ing

Then it is the day will come;

Mirth will then be turned to weep­ing

Sinners then must meet their doom;

But the peo­ple of the Lord

Shall ob­tain their bright re­ward.

O what sac­red joys await them!

They shall see the Sav­ior then;

Those who now op­pose and hate them

Never can op­pose again;

Brethren

let us think of this:

All is ours

if we are His.

Waiting for the Lord’s re­turn­ing

Be it ours His word to keep;

Let our lamps be always burn­ing;

Let us watch while oth­ers sleep;

We’re no long­er of the night;

We are child­ren of the light.

Being of the fa­vored num­ber

Whom the Sav­ior calls His own

’Tis not meet that we should slum­ber

Nothing should be left un­done:

This should be His peo­ple’s aim

Still to glo­ri­fy His name!