1 Look up, behold, the fields are white already unto the harvest,
Lo, the reaping time has come!
O reaper, haste, thrust in thy blade, and gather the golden treasures,
For the final harvest home!
‘Tis the Lord’s own grain, and ‘tis falling, falling, falling,
Shall it there ungathered lie,
While for workers still he is calling, calling, calling,
And the eventide is nigh?
O brother, hasten away, to the harvest,
Ere the shades of evening fall!
Go and reap golden sheaves,
For there’s work enough for all.
2 Each sheaf a soul that cost the blood of Jesus, the Lord of glory,
To their rescue haste away!
Go forth repeating o’er and o’er the beautiful olden story,
Work while still ‘tis called today!
For on ev’ry hand they are dying, dying, dying,
While the blessed Spirit grieves!
And to us the Master is crying, crying, crying,
“Go and reap my golden sheaves!” [Refrain]
3 ‘Twill not be long, O weary one, the labor shall all be ended,
And the resting time shall come;
Then songs of praise, and shouts of joy in melody sweetly blended,
Shall resound thro’ heaven’s dome!
And the glad joy-bells shall be ringing, ringing, ringing,
O’er a world redeemed from sin!
And the angel choirs shall be singing, singing, singing,
As the sheaves are garnered in! [Refrain]
Source: The Finest of the Wheat No. 3 #170
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|The Finest of the Wheat No. 3 #170||The Reaping-Time Has Come||Look up, behold, the fields are white already unto the harvest||[Look up, behold, the fields are white already unto the harvest]||E. E. Williams||1904||Missionary ||