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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 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
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
Words public domain
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