So little time! The harvest will be over,
Our reaping done, we reapers taken home,
Report our work to Jesus, Lord of harvest,
And hope He’ll smile and that He’ll say, “Well done!”

Today we reap, or miss our golden harvest!
Today is given us lost souls to win.
Oh, then to save some dear ones from the burning,
Today we’ll go to bring some sinner in.

How many times I should have strongly pleaded;
How often did I feel to strictly warn.
The Spirit moved, oh had I pled for Jesus!
The grain is fallen, lost ones not reborn.

Despite the heat, the ceaseless toil, the hardship,
The broken heart o’er those who cannot win;
Misunderstood because we’re oft peculiar,
Still no regrets we’ll have but for our sin.

A day of pleasure, or a feast of friendship;
A house or car or garments fair or fame,
Will all be trash when souls are brought to heaven,
And then how sad to face the slackers’ blame.

The harvest white, with reapers few is wasting,
And many souls will die and never know,
The love of Christ, the joy of sins forgiven,
Oh let us weep and love and pray and go!

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