Far and Near the Fields Are Teeming

1Far 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.

RefrainLord 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.

2Send them forth with morn's first beaming,
Send them in the noontide's glare;
When the sun's last rays are streaming,
Bid them gather everywhere.

3O thou, whom thy Lord is sending,
Gather now the sheaves of gold;
Heav'n ward then at evening wending Thou shalt come with joy untold.