To the Harvest Field

Verse 1

A band of faithful reapers we, Who gather for eternity The golden sheaves of ripened grain From ev’ry valley, hill and plain: Our song is one the reapers sing, In honor of the Lord and King— The Master of the harvest wide, Who for a world of sinners died.

Chorus

To the harvest field away, For the Master calleth; There is work for all today, Ere the darkness falleth. Swiftly do the moments fly, Harvest days are going by, Going, going, going, going by.

Verse 2

We are a faithful gleaning band, And labor at our Lord’s command, Unyielding, loyal, tried and true, For lo! the reapers are but few: Behold the waving harvest-field Abundant with a golden yield; And hear the Lord of harvest say To all, “Go reap for Me today.”

Verse 3

The golden hours like moments fly, And harvest days are passing by; Then take thy rusty sickle down, And labor for a fadeless crown: Why will you idly stand and wait? Behold, the hour is growing late! Can you to judgment bring but leaves, While here are waiting golden sheaves?