Lift thine eyes and look upon the fields that stand
Ripe and ready for the willing gleaner’s hand,
Rouse ye, O sleepers!Ye are needed as reapers!
Who will be the first to answer,“Master, here am I.”
Far and wide the ripened grain is bending low,
In the breezes gently waving to and fro,
Rouse ye, O sleepers!Ye are needed as reapers!
And the golden harvest days are swiftly passing by.