79. Far And Near.

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.

*CHORUS
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 moon tide’s glare;
When the sun’s last rays are streaming,
Bid them gather ev’ry where.

O thou whom thy Lord is sending,
Gather now the sheaves of gold;
Heav’nward then at evening wending,
Thou shalt come with joy untold.