Look, the har­vest field is teem­ing
With the rich and rip­ened grain;
Wide it spreads be­fore us,
Bright the sky is o’er us;
In the sun­light, gold­en gleam­ing,
Heaving like the rest­less main,
Reapers are needed,
Resounds o’er hill and plain.

Refrain

Rouse ye then, and to the fields away,
Go labor for the Mas­ter while you may;
Lo! He is call­ing, night is fall­ing,
Hasten to ob­ey,
For reap­ers are need­ed to­day.

In the mar­kets and the by­ways,
Whiling pre­cious hours away,
Many stand com­plain­ing,
Idle still re­main­ing,
Loitering in the dus­ty high­ways,
Hearing not the Mas­ter say:
Reapers are need­ed,
O who will work to­day?

Refrain

Hear ye not the faith­ful sing­ing
Of the la­bor and the yield?
Rouse ye, then, O sleep­ers,
Join the hap­py reap­ers;
To the wind your sor­rows fling­ing,
Patiently the sic­kle wield:
Reapers are need­ed,
Awake, and to the field!

Refrain