Behold, the Bride­groom cometh in
The mid­dle of the night,
And blest is he whose loins are girt,
Whose lamp is burn­ing bright;
But woe to that dull ser­vant, whom
The Mas­ter shall sur­prise
With lamp un­trimmed, un­burn­ing and
With slum­ber in his eyes.

Do thou, my soul, be­ware, be­ware,
Lest thou in sleep sink down,
Lest thou be giv­en o’er to death,
And lose the gold­en crown;
But see that thou be so­ber, with
A watch­ful eye, and thus
Cry—Holy, ho­ly, ho­ly God,
Have mer­cy up­on us.

That day, the day of fear, shall come;
My soul, slack not thy toil,
But light thy lamp, and feed it well,
And make it bright with oil;
Who know­est not how soon may sound
The cry at ev­en­tide,
Behold the Bride­groom comes! Arise!
Go forth to meet the bride.

Beware, my soul; be­ware, be­ware,
Lest thou in slum­ber lie,
And like, the five, re­main with­out,
And knock, and vain­ly cry;
But watch, and bear thy lamp un­dimmed,
And Christ shall gird thee on
His own bright wed­ding robe of light—
The glo­ry of the Son.