Behold the fields are white

1 Look up! behold, the fields are white;
The harvest time is near;
The summons of the Master falls
Upon the reaper’s ear;
Go forth into the golden grain,
And bind the precious sheaves,
And garner for the Lord of Hosts
The harvest which He gives.

2 Look up! behold, the fields are white;
The harvesters are few;
The gathering of the harvest must
B y grace depend on you;
Go forth throughout the busy world,
The world of want and sin,
And gather for the Lord of Hosts
Its dying millions in.

3 Look up! behold, the fields are white;
The Master soon shall come,
And carry with rejoicing heart
His gathered trophies home;
And can you stand with empty arms,
While gladly He receives
From others in the harvest field
A load of precious sheaves?

Source: Joyful Lays: a new collection of songs, prepared and adapted for the Sunday School #87