Far and Near the Fields Are Teeming

Verse 1

Far and near the fields are teeming with the waves of ripened grain; far and near their gold is gleaming o'er the sunny slope and plain.

Chorus

Lord of harvest, send forth reapers; hear us, Lord, to thee we cry; send them now the sheaves to gather, ere the harvest-time pass by.

Verse 2

Send them forth with morn's first beaming, send them in the noontide's glare; when the sun's last rays are gleaming, bid them gather ev'rywhere.

Verse 3

Thou whom Christ the Lord is sending, gather now the sheaves of gold; heav'nward then at evening wending, thou shalt come with joy untold.