"THE LAST HOUR"THE SUNSET BURNS ACCROSS THE SKY;
UPON THE AIR ITS WARNING CRY
THE CURFEW TOLLS FROM TOWER TO TOWER.
O CHILDREN, 'TIS THE LAST, LAST HOUR!
THE WORK THAT CENTURIES MIGHT HAVE DONE
MUST CROWD THE HOUR OF SETTING SUN,
AND THROUGH ALL LANDS THE SAVING NAME
YE MUST, IN FERVENT HASTE, PROCLAIM.
THE FIELDS ARE WHITE TO HARVEST. WEEP,
O TARDY WORKERS, AS YE REAP,
FOR WASTED HOURS THAT MIGHT HAVE WON
RICH HARVESTS ERE THE SET OF SUN.
WE HEAR HIS FOOTSTEPS ON THE WAY!
OH, WORK WHILE IT IS CALLED TODAY,
CONSTRAINED BY LOVE, ENDUED WITH POWER,
O CHILDREN, IN THIS LAST, LAST HOUR.
-----CLARA THWAITES.
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