My Father's Work Is Pressing Me

1 The waiting field is large and white,
And doth the sickles keen invite;
Yea, many drooping plants I see,
My Father's work is pressing me.

Refrain:
My Father's work is pressing me,
And I must do it faithfully;
The reapers on the field are few,
And I to Jesus must be true.

2 The reapers in the field are few,
With willing hearts, and brave and true;
Help must be summoned speedily;
My Father's work is pressing me. [Refrain]

3 The sickles rough and dull with rust,
Lie careless, trodden in the dust;
Sharpened and furbished must they be;
My Father's work is pressing me. [Refrain]

4 Let not the ripened grain be lost;
Before the winter's sleet and frost,
I must be garnered faithfully;
My Father's work is pressing me. [Refrain]

Source: His Fullness Songs #130