1 A band of faithful reapers we,
Who gather for eternity
The golden sheaves of ripened grain
From ev’ry valley, hill and plain:
Our song is one the reapers sing,
In honor of the Lord and King—
The Master of the harvest wide,
Who for a world of sinners died.
Chorus:
To the harvest field away,
For the Master calleth;
There is work for all today,
Ere the darkness falleth.
Swiftly do the moments fly,
Harvest days are going by,
Going, going, going, going by.
2 We are a faithful gleaning band,
And labor at our Lord’s command,
Unyielding, loyal, tried and true,
For lo! the reapers are but few:
Behold the waving harvest-field
Abundant with a golden yield;
And hear the Lord of harvest say
To all, “Go reap for Me today.” [Chorus]
3 The golden hours like moments fly,
And harvest days are passing by;
Then take thy rusty sickle down,
And labor for a fadeless crown:
Why will you idly stand and wait?
Behold, the hour is growing late!
Can you to judgment bring but leaves,
While here are waiting golden sheaves? [Chorus]
Source: The New Praiseworthy: for the Church and Sunday School #240
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