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Song Lyrics
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
Lord of harvest, send forth reapers!
Hear us, Lord, to Thee we cry
Send them now the sheaves to gather
Ere the harvesttime 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 ev'rywhere
O thou, whom thy Lord is sending
Gather nwo the sheaves of gold
Heavenward then at evening wending
Thou shall come with joy untold
Words public domain
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