Behold the Fields Are White

Verse 1

Look up! behold, the fields are white, The harvest time is near; The summons of the Master falls Upon the reaper’s ear: Go forth into the golden grain And bind the precious sheaves, And garner for the Lord of Hosts The harvest which he gives.

Chorus

Look up! look up! behold, the fields are white, The harvest time is near, The harvest time is near: Look up! look up! behold, the fields are white, Look up! behold, the fields are white, The harvest time is near.

Verse 2

Look up! behold, the fields are white, The laborers are few, The gath’ring of the harvest must By grace depend on you: Go forth throughout the busy world, The world of want and sin, And gather for the Lord of Hosts Its dying millions in.

Verse 3

Look up! behold, the fields are white, The Master soon shall come, And carry with rejoicing heart His gathered trophies home; And can you stand with empty arms, While gladly he receives From others in the harvest field A load of precious sheaves.