Lyrics
Font size:
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 ev'rywhere.
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.
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 ev'rywhere.
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.
Support My Songbooks
Help us expand our library and keep the music alive for everyone. Even a small donation goes a long way.
Buy us a coffee