Standing in the mark­et places
All the sea­son through,
Idly say­ing, Lord, is there
No work that I can do?
O how many loi­ter,
While the Mas­ter calls anew—
Reapers! reape­rs!
Who will work to­day?

Refrain

Lift thine eyes and look up­on
The fields that stand
Ripe and rea­dy for
The will­ing glean­er’s hand,
Rouse ye, O sleep­ers!
Ye are need­ed as reap­ers!
Who will be the first to an­swer,
Master, here am I.
Far and wide the rip­ened grain
Is bend­ing low,
In the breezes gent­ly wav­ing
To and fro,
Rouse ye, O sleep­ers!
Ye are need­ed as reap­ers!
And the gold­en har­vest days
Are swift­ly pass­ing by.

Ev’ry sheaf you ga­ther
Will be­come a jew­el bright
In the crown you hope to wear
In yon­der world of light.
Seek the gems im­mor­tal
That are pre­cious in His sight!
Reapers! reap­ers!
Who will work to­day?

Refrain

Morning hours are pass­ing,
And the ev­en­ing fol­lows fast;
Soon the time of reap­ing
Will for­ev­er­more be past.
Empty hande­d to the Mas­ter
Will you go at last?
Reapers! reap­ers!
Who will work to­day?

Refrain