The Fields Are White (Peacock)

The fields are all white to the har­vest

And call­ing for work­ers to­day;

The rich

gold­en grain now in­vites you

Oh

who will the sum­mons ob­ey?

The har­vest is call­ing

Awake from thy sleep­ing!

For few are the work­ers

And soon comes the night

Go forth to the reap­ing.

The reap­ers are few for the la­bor

And great is the need of the hour;

Go forth in the name of the Mas­ter

For He will en­due you with pow­er.

And pray ye the Lord of the har­vest

To send forth His reap­ers amain

For the har­vest most sure­ly will per­ish

Unless we shall gar­ner the grain.

And this is the pro­mise He giv­eth:

The reap­er shall wag­es re­ceive

And ga­ther his fruit

life eter­nal:

Go forth

and the pro­mise be­lieve!