1 Glad is the song that the reapers sing,
As they are joyfully mowing!
Hither and thither they bend and swing,
Zeal to the efforts bestowing;
Louder and sweeter the echoes ring,
Patience and loyalty showing,
As in the field the sickle they wield,
Gathering sheaves for the King.
Far and wide, in its waving pride,
Does the field all golden, rich and ripe appear;
And lo! the sun is high in the cloudless sky;
Then awake, and arouse,
For the harvest-time is here;
For the harvest-time is here.
2 Bright is the sun, and the sky is clear,
Swiftly the moments are flying;
Harken! the voice of the Master hear,
Loudly for laborers crying;
While in the markets, afar and near,
Many are waiting, denying
Service they might, with joy and delight,
Give ere the shadows appear. [Refrain]
3 Look ye, the harvest is truly great,
Golden and ripe it is gleaming!
Wondrously wide is thy Lord’s estate,
In its magnificence teeming;
Reapers are needed, and still you wait,
Idle and carelessly dreaming!
Go ye to-day, and reap while ye may!
Go, ere you enter too late! [Refrain]