I know not when the Lord will come,
   Or at what hour He may appear,
Whether at midnight or at morn,
   Or at what season of the year.

I know not what of time remains,
   To run its course in this low sphere,
Or what awaits of calm and storm,
   Of joy or grief, of hope or fear.

I know not what is yet to run
   Of spring or summer, green or sere,
Of death or life, of pain or peace,
   Of shade or shine, of song or tear.

The centuries have come and gone,
   Dark centuries of absence drear;
I dare not chide the long delay,
   Nor ask when I His voice shall hear.

I do not think it can be long,
   ’Till in His glory He appear;
And yet I dare not name the day,
   Nor fix the solemn advent year.

I only know that He is near,
   And that His voice I soon shall hear;
I only know that He is near,
   And that His voice I soon shall hear.

—Horatius Bonar