When, descending from the sky,
The Bridegroom shall appear
And the solemn midnight cry
Shall call professors near,
How the sound our hearts will damp!
How will shame o’erspread each face!
If we only have a lamp
Without the oil of grace.

Foolish virgins then will wake,
And seek for a supply;
But in vain the pains they take
To borrow or to buy.
Then with those they now despise,
Earnestly they wish to share;
But the best among the wise,
Will have no oil to spare.

Wise they are, and truly blest,
Who then shall ready be!
But despair will seize the rest,
And dreadful misery:
“Once,” they’ll cry, “we scorned to doubt,
Though in lies our trust we put;
Now our lamp of hope is out,
The door of mercy shut.”

If they then presume to plead,
“Lord, open to us now;
We on earth have heard and prayed,
And with Thy saints did bow”;
He will answer from His throne,
“Though you with My people mixed,
Yet to Me ye ne’er were known;
Depart, your doom is fixed.”

O that none who worship here
May hear that word “Depart!”
Lord, impress a godly fear
Upon each careless heart:
Help us, Lord, to search the camp,
Let us not ourselves beguile;
Trusting to a dying lamp,
Without a stock of oil.