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| Text: | The Call for Reapers |
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;
Sound them now the sheaves to gather,
Ere the harvest time pass by.
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 everywhere. [Chorus]
3 O thou, whom thy Lord is sending,
Gather now the sheaves of gold,
Heavenward then at evening wending,
Thou shalt come with joy untold. [Chorus]
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Far and near the fields are teeming |
| Title: | The Call for Reapers |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1895 |
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