358 - Far and Near the Fields Are Teeming
Far and near the fields are teeming
With
the sheaves of ripened grain;
Far
and near their gold is gleaming
O’er
the sunny slope and plain.
Refrain
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.
2
Send
them forth with morn’s first beaming,
Send
them in the noontide’s glare;
When
the sun’s last rays are streaming,
Bid
them gather everywhere.
3
O
thou, whom thy Lord is sending,
Gather
now the sheaves of gold
Heavenward
then at evening wending
Thou
shalt come with joy untold.
