Missionary sewing society

1 Though to a distant region,
Our course we may not steer;
To spread that blest religion,
Which prompts our meeting here;
Though Providence denies us
The heavier work to do,
Our Master here employs us,
We're in his service too.

2 While fathers, sons, and brothers,
Are toiling in the field,
Their daughters, sisters, mothers,
To sloth shall never yield;
Our hands shall make their raiment,
And needful food provide,
Till every faithful claimant
Shall have his wants supplied.

3 Our works are not redundant,--
'Tis little we can do--
The harvest is abundant,
And reapers are but few;
To aid the pious labours
Of those in darker lands,
We meet as Christian neighbours,
And ply our cheerful hands.

4 While some go forward weeping,
And scatter precious seeds,
And others now are reaping
The fruits of former deeds;
Our Father, God, direct them,
Wherever they shall roam;
Let angel bands protect them,
Till thou shalt call them home.

5 When they return with gladness,
Their sheaves around them borne,
No longer, then, in sadness,
Their sufferings we shall mourn;
What though they go before us,
Or long delay to come,
We'll join their blissful chorus,
And "shout the harvest home."

Source: The Minstrel of Zion: a book of religious songs, accompanied with appropriate music, chiefly original #97