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.

Refrain

Lord of har­vest, send forth reap­ers!
Hear us, Lord, to Thee we cry;
Send them now the sheaves to ga­ther
Ere the har­vest time pass by.

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.

Refrain

O thou, whom thy Lord is send­ing,
Gather now the sheaves of gold;
Heav’nward then at ev­en­ing wend­ing,
Thou shalt come with joy un­told.

Refrain