Far and Near
Far and near the fields are teeming
With the waves of ripened grain;
Far and near their gold is gleaming
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
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
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