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1 Behold how the fields are waving,
Unmeasured the ripened plain,
But few are the faithful gleaners,
To gather the golden grain.
Forth to the harvest field, then, away!
There is plenty for all to do,
The Lord of the harvest is calling,
But the reapers, alas! are few.
2 The world is the field of harvest,
And souls must be gathered in;
Go glean from the broad, rough highways,
The good from the fields of sin. [Refrain]
3 Go work, for the day is passing,
Go labor, and hope, and pray;
Go gather the priceless jewels,
Go seek for the lost today. [Refrain]Source: Triumphant Songs No.3 #44