Vain are all ter­res­tri­al plea­sures,
Mixed with dross the pur­est gold:
Seek we, then, for heav’n­ly trea­sures,
Treasures ne­ver wax­ing old.
Let our best af­fect­ions cen­ter
On the things around the throne:
There no thief can ev­er en­ter;
Moth and rust are there un­known.

Earthly joys no long­er please us;
Here would we re­nounce them all;
Seek our on­ly rest in Je­sus,
Him our Lord and mas­ter call.
Faith, our lan­guid spir­its cheer­ing,
Points to bright­er worlds above;
Bids us look for His ap­pear­ing;
Bids us tri­umph in His love.

May our light be al­ways burn­ing,
And our loins be gird­ed round,
Waiting for our Lord’s re­turn­ing,
Longing for the wel­come sound.
Thus the Chris­tian life adorn­ing,
Never need we be afraid,
Should He come at night or morn­ing
Early dawn, or ev­en­ing shade.