The God of Glory Walks His Round

The God of Gl­ory walks His round

From day to day

from year to year

And warns us each with aw­ful sound

“No long­er stand ye idle here!

“Ye whose young cheeks are ro­sy bright

Whose hands are strong

whose hearts are clear

Waste not of hope the morn­ing light!

Ah fools! why stand ye idle here?

“Oh

as the griefs ye would as­suage

That wait on life’s de­clin­ing year

Secure a bless­ing for your age.

And work your mak­er’s bu­si­ness here!

“And ye

whose locks of scan­ty grey

Foretell your lat­est tra­vail near.

How swift­ly fades your worth­less day!

And stand ye yet so idle here?

One hour re­mains

there is but one!

But ma­ny a shriek and many a tear

Through end­less years the guilt must moan

Of mo­ments lost and wast­ed here!

Oh Thou

by all Thy works ad­ored

To whom the sin­ner’s soul is dear

Recall us to Thy vine­yard

Lord!

And grant us grace to please Thee here!