"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for thee."

* * * * *

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour,
Although thou callest me
In life's unclouded morning
Why should I follow thee?
The world and all its pleasures
Outspread before me lie,
When I have grasped its treasures
I'll hear thee, by and by.

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!—
True, thou hast called me long,
Yet, almost more than ever,
I love the world's glad song!
Say not the years are hasting
With rapid footsteps by,—
Say not life's sands are wasting,
But call me by and by!

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!
I have no time to stay;
The goal tow'rd which I hasten
Is now not far away.
Another day—and haply
The triumph I shall see,
And grasp my crown of vic'try,—
Then, I will call for thee!

* * *

No more, no more, O sinner,
The Saviour's call is o'er!
The door is shut forever,
To be unclosed no more!—
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!

Past is the harvest-gladness,
The summer-bloom is o'er,
Thy sun has set in sadness,
To rise-oh, nevermore!
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!