Prepare, Ye Saints, to Meet Your Lord

Prepare

ye saints

to meet your Lord

Nor sleep nor slum­ber more;

Bright be your lamps

your ves­sels filled

To feed the wast­ing store.

He comes

He comes

may be the cry

In mid­night’s deep­est gloom;

Should then our lamps be void of oil

How sad must be our doom?

In vain

when ’tis too late

we seek

A fresh sup­ply to get;

In vain

when once the door is shut

Our fol­ly we regret.

Open

Lord

op­en

we may cry

But then can’t move His heart;

I know you not

the Judge will say

Depart from Me

de­part.

Lord

for Thy com­ing may I wait

With loins well girt about;

In heav­en­ly vir­tues may I shine

Nor let my lamp go out.

Then will the Bride­groom me ad­mit

And own me for His friend;

My soul shall feast on heav­en­ly love

Nor shall the ban­quet end.