To the Harvest Field (Gabriel)

A band of faith­ful reap­ers we

Who gath­er for eter­ni­ty

The gold­en sheaves of rip­ened grain

From ev­ery val­ley

hill and plain

Our song is one the reap­ers sing

In hon­or of their Lord and king—

The Mas­ter of the har­vest wide

Who for a world of sin­ners died.

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.

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.

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?