WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

                                   Higher, watchman, climb up high,
                                   Look across the Eastern sky;
                                   Climb above the mountain height,
                                   Watchman, tell us of the night.

                                   Yes, I see some sign of day,
                                   In the East not far away.
                                   The fig tree buds.  Lift up your eye,
                                   Your redemption draweth nigh.

                                   Jacob's sons are going home
                                   In other lands no more to roam:
                                   For God will not forget their land,
                                   But for his chosen people stand.

                                   And soon the blessed Lord will come,
                                   To take His ransomed children home;
                                   Then we shall rise so bright and fair
                                   To meet the Savior in the air.

                                   O wondrous grace, O love divine;
                                   I soon shall reach that home of mine,
                                   To dwell with Jesus evermore,
                                   On that bright eternal shore.

                                   Soon I'll leave this world of sadness,
                                   Enter into joys untold;
                                   Soon I'll reach that place of gladness,
                                   Where my Savior I'll behold.

                                   Sure there is a cold, dark river,
                                   I must cross to meet that place;
                                   And the angry waves are roaring,
                                   I must meet them face to face.

                                   But the Boatman will be ready,
                                   And my passport is the blood;
                                   He will take me safely over
                                   For I've made my peace with God.

                                   Wondrous love, no tongue can tell it,
                                   What a store of grace divine;
                                   For this world I would not sell it,
                                   What a blessed hope is mine.

 
 

             Josephine Roberts