Far and Near

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.

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.

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 ev­ery­where.

O thou

whom thy Lord is send­ing

Gather now the sheaves of gold;

Heav’nward then at ev­en­ing wend­ing

Thou shalt come with joy un­told.