Lift up your eyes upon the land,
For white the fields appear;
The harvest of the world’s at hand,
The reaping time is here.
Stay not to wait repeated call;
The King’s work needeth haste;
Leave not the grain unreaped to fall,
The priceless crop to waste.
Ye men and maidens of the Lord,
Be not the call delayed;
Rise to the work with full accord,
Thrust in the sickle blade.
Wait not until the wane of day;
Your loins now quickly gird;
E’en ere the dew has dried away,
Answer the Master’s word.
How soon will pass the morning prime,
Think not the hours will stay;
Soon will it be your eventime,
How soon will close your day.