The blind men to Jesus cried out by the way,
Beseeching in darkness for light;
“Oh help, Son of David, have mercy, we pray,
And grant us the blessing of sight.”

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“Believe ye that I am able, able to do this?
According unto your faith be it unto you.”

O Christian, so weary of sorrow and sin,
Your darkness will vanish away;
His light like the glory of noontide, shine in—
To you He is saying today,

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Oh wand’rer if you would a blessing receive,
He’s passing, oh do not delay;
But answer Him quickly,
“Yea, Lord, I believe,”
To you He is saying today,

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The same Son of David is healing today,
All those who upon Him call;
Yes, Jesus of Nazareth is passing this way,
He’s saying to us, one and all,

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Never let a shade of care rest on your brow,
You can have the Savior’s helping hand just now;
He has promised if His Word you will believe,
That according to your faith you shall receive.

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Claim the promise, plead it o’er and o’er;
On His Word lay hold as ne’er before;
Claim the promise, plead it o’er and o’er;
Let your faith be mightier than e’er before.

He has called you in the world to shine for Him,
Never need the brightness of your life grow dim;
He has promised evermore He will bestow
All that you may need to keep your light aglow.

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When the erring feet you seek to guide aright
From the paths of darkness into His own light,
He has promised pow’r to give you from above
As you tell the story of His wondrous love.

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When at last your service for Him here shall cease,
And He bids you rise to realms of endless peace,
He has promised your reward on high shall be
Far beyond all telling thro’ eternity.

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Jesus, my Savior, look on me,
For I am weary and oppressed;
I come to cast myself on Thee:
Thou art my Rest.

Look down on me, for I am weak;
I feel the toilsome journey’s length;
Thine aid omnipotent I seek:
Thou art my Strength.

I am bewildered on my way,
Dark and tempestuous is the night;
O send Thou forth some cheering ray:
Thou art my Light.

I hear the storms around me rise;
But when I dread th’impending shock,
My spirit to the Refuge flies:
Thou art my Rock.

When Satan flings his fiery darts,
I look to Thee; my terrors cease;
Thy cross a hiding place imparts:
Thou art my Peace.

Standing alone on Jordan’s brink,
In that tremendous latest strife,
Thou will not suffer me to sink:
Thou art my Life.

Thou wilt my every want supply,
E’en to the end, whate’er befall;
Through life, in death, eternally,
Thou art my All.

Are you working for the Master,
Are you toiling day by day?
Are you sowing seeds of kindness,
For the reapers on the way?

Hear you not the Master calling,
For glad toilers brave and true?
Will you enter now the harvest,
For the call is unto you?

There’s a work for all, my brother,
Sheaves are falling by the way,
Go you forth into the harvest,
Enter now, without delay.

In the vineyard of the Lord,
There is work for all to do;
Will you go and work today,
With a purpose strong and true?

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Heed the call, brother dear,
For workers today;
Let your eyes see the need
Of workers today.

Brother, sister, hear the call!
All along, your aid afford,
Let us strive to save the lost
Strive to save by work and word.

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Mark the spirit’s direful fate,
Wheresoever sin is found;
Come, and lend a helping hand,
Let the shackles be unbound.

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Oh, for workers strong and brave,
Who will lift the banner high;
So the lost can see the way,
To the mansions in the sky.

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Forth in the dawn-light, cool and sweet and tender,
While yet the dew-drops tremble on the flowers,
Seeking for lab’rers, One doth meekly wander,
Calling, still calling thro’ the quiet hours.
“Go, work today, the flush of early morning
Brightens the east, and day is coming on;
Go in the freshness of the day’s adorning,
Sure shall your hire be at the set of sun!”

Forth while the sun rides higher still in heaven,
Forth while the noon-tide’s fervid radiance glows,
Forth while the shadows lengthen t’ward the even,
Calling for lab’rers, still the Master goes;
“Go, work today! oh, wherefore yet delaying,
Stand ye still idle as the hours glide on?
Go, for the morning waits not for your staying,
Sure shall your hire be at the set of sun!”

Lord, we have heard Thee in our youth’s glad morning;
Lord, we still hear Thee in our noonday prime,
Hear Thee, and gladly, ease and pleasure scorning,
Gird us for service, lowly yet sublime;
Take us, ourselves to Thee we now surrender,
Take us, and use us till the day is done,
Gather us then in Thy embraces tender,
Such let our hire be at the set of sun!

In the early morning,
Verdant fields adorning,
While the golden sunlight
Wakes the dewy leaves.
Haste we now with gladness,
Banish care and sadness;
Go and help the reapers
Gather in the sheaves.

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Gather in the sheaves,
Gather in the sheaves,
While the voice of nature
Sweetest music breathes:
Hear the Master calling,
Hear the echoes falling;
Go and help the reapers,
Gather in the sheaves.

When the days are brightest,
When our hearts are lightest,
When the lovely summer
Fairest beauty weaves.
In the noontide beaming,
In the twilight gleaming,
Go and help the reapers
Gather in the sheaves.

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Should our way be dreary,
Let us never weary,
Earnest, faithful labor
Greatest joy receives.
Though we toil in sorrow,
Soon will dawn the morrow,
When we’ll cross the river
Bearing home the sheaves.

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O list to the music that floats on the air,
The valleys are smiling, the reapers are there;
The summer rewards us with plenty again;
Then thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.

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Gather the grain, gather the grain;
Thanks for the sunshine, the dew, and the rain;
Sunshine is yielding its harvest again,
Then thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.

O why should we tarry from labor today?
The reapers are calling, and we must away;
The sky is unclouded and soft is the wind;
The bright sheaves are waving and ready to bind.

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We ask of the Master, our strength to renew,
Tho’ great is the harvest, the toilers are few;
We pray that to others His grace He may give,
To work and be faithful as long as they live.

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The harvest is passing, to greet us no more,
The summer is ending, and soon will be o’er;
Our moments neglected, return not again—
Now thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.

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Ho! reapers of life’s harvest,
Why stand with rusted blade,
Until the night draws round thee,
And day begins to fade?
Why stand ye idle, waiting
For reapers more to come?
The golden morn is passing,
Why sit ye idle, dumb?

Thrust in your sharpened sickle,
And gather in the grain,
The night is fast approaching,
And soon will come again;
The Master calls for reapers,
And shall He call in vain?
Shall sheaves lie there ungathered,
And waste upon the plain?

Mount up the heights of wisdom,
And crush each error low;
Keep back no words of knowledge
That human hearts should know.
Be faithful to thy mission,
In service of thy Lord,
And then a golden chaplet
Shall be thy just reward.

Let us away, no longer delay,
Morning with joy is bright;
Let us away and labor today
Out in the fields so white.

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Onward, onward, bounding along,
Onward, onward, join the busy throng.
Shouting, singing, o’er the harvest plain;
Joyful, joyful, gather in the grain.

Let us away, the message obey,
Jesus repeats the call;
Come with a will, our mission fulfill,
Haste to the work for all.

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Let us away, we cannot delay,
Harvest will soon be o’er;
Moments and hours, like beautiful flow’rs,
Soon will return no more.

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Let us away, O let us away,
Lifting our eyes above;
Faithful and true our labor pursue,
Trusting a Savior’s love.

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O still in accents sweet and strong
Sounds forth the ancient word,
“More reapers for white harvest fields,
More laborers for the Lord.”

We hear the call; in dreams no more
In selfish ease we lie,
But, girded for our Father’s work,
Go forth beneath His sky.

Where prophets’ word, and martyrs’ blood,
And prayers of saints were sown,
We, to their labors entering in,
Would reap where they have strown.

O Thou Whose call our hearts has stirred,
To do Thy will we come;
Thrust in our sickles at Thy Word,
And bear our harvest home.

Standing in the market places all the season through,
Idly saying, “Lord, is there no work that I can do?”
O how many loiter, while the Master calls anew—
“Reapers! reapers! Who will work today?”

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Lift thine eyes and look upon the fields that stand
Ripe and ready for the willing gleaner’s hand,
Rouse ye, O sleepers!Ye are needed as reapers!
Who will be the first to answer,“Master, here am I.”
Far and wide the ripened grain is bending low,
In the breezes gently waving to and fro,
Rouse ye, O sleepers!Ye are needed as reapers!
And the golden harvest days are swiftly passing by.

Ev’ry sheaf you gather will become a jewel bright
In the crown you hope to wear in yonder world of light.
Seek the gems immortal that are precious in His sight!
“Reapers! reapers! Who will work today?”

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Morning hours are passing, and the ev’ning follows fast;
Soon the time of reaping will forevermore be past.
Empty handed to the Master will you go at last?
“Reapers! reapers! Who will work today?”

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Through the night of doubt and sorrow
Onward goes the pilgrim band,
Singing songs of expectation,
Marching to the promised land.
Clear before us through the darkness
Gleams and burns the guiding light:
Brother clasps the hand of brother,
Stepping fearless through the night.

One the light of God’s own presence,
O’er His ransomed people shed,
Chasing far the gloom and terror,
Brightening all the path we tread:
One the object of our journey,
One the faith which never tires,
One the earnest looking forward,
One the hope our God inspires.

One the strain that lips of thousands
Lift as from the heart of one;
One the conflict, one the peril
One the march in God begun:
One the gladness of rejoicing
On the far eternal shore,
Where the one almighty Father
Reigns in love for evermore.

Onward, therefore, pilgrim brothers,
Onward, with the cross our aid!
Bear its shame, and fight its battle,
Till we rest beneath its shade.
Soon shall come the great awaking,
Soon the rending of the tomb;
Then the scattering of all shadows,
And the end of toil and gloom.

If you cannot, on the ocean, sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows, laughing at the storms you meet,
You can stand among the sailors, anchored yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them, as they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey up the mountain steep and high,
You can stand within the valley, while the multitudes go by;
You can chant in happy measure, as they slowly pass along;
Though they may forget the singer, they will not forget the song.

If you have not gold and silver ever ready to command;
If you cannot toward the needy reach an ever open hand;
You can visit the afflicted, o’er the erring you can weep;
You can be a true disciple, sitting at the Savior’s feet.

If you cannot, in the conflict prove, yourself a soldier true,
If, where fire and smoke are thickest, there’s no work for you to do;
When the battlefield is silent, you can go with careful tread,
You can bear away the wounded, you can cover up the dead.

If you cannot, in the harvest, gather up the richest sheaves,
Many a grain both ripe and golden oft the careless reaper leaves;
Go and glean among the briars growing rank against the wall,
For it may be that their shadow hides the heaviest wheat of all.

Do not, then, stand idly waiting, for some greater work to do;
Fortune is a lazy goddess, she will never come to you.
Go and toil in any vineyard, do not fear to do or dare,
If you want a field of labor, you can find it anywhere.

And let our bodies part,
To different climes repair;
Inseparably joined in heart
The friends of Jesus are.

O let us still proceed
In Jesus’ work below;
And, following our triumphant Head,
To further conquests go!

The vineyard of the Lord
Before His laborers lies;
And lo! we see the vast reward
Which waits us in the skies.

O let our heart and mind
Continually ascend,
That haven of repose to find,
Where all our labors end.

When all our toils are o’er,
Our suffering and our pain!
Who meet on that eternal shore
Shall never part again.

O happy, happy place,
Where saints and angels meet;
There we shall see each other’s face,
And all our brethren greet.

Lord of the Gospel harvest
Send more lab’rers forth into Thy field,
Send more lab’rers forth;
More pastors teach Thy flock to tend,
More workmen raise Thy house to build,
His work and place to each assign,
And clothe the Word with power divine,
And clothe the Word with power divine.

The Lord of the harvest is coming,
We know not the day it will be
When He shall appear to His people,
The hour we His glory shall see.
Oh soul, are you ready to meet Him,
His own can you joyfully yield,
When Jesus shall come in His beauty
To earth, to His great harvest field?

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The Lord of the harvest is coming, is coming
We know not the day and we know not the hour,
When He shall appear in His glory,
His might and His wonderful power.

The Lord of the harvest is coming,
The world shall acknowledge His might
When He shall descend with His angels,
His angels of glory and light.
A message of joy to His faithful,
But where will the faithless be found?
When Jesus shall come to His people
His voice through the world shall resound.

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The Lord of the harvest is coming,
“Be ready,” He bids thee to wait,
For oh, in the clouds we shall see Him,
If early He cometh, or late.
Prepare, nor delay, bid Him welcome,
So soon His dear face thou shalt see,
The Savior is coming so surely,
A message He’ll bring unto thee.

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Our country’s voice is pleading,
Ye men of God, arise!
His providence is leading,
The land before you lies;
Day-gleams o’er it are brightening,
And promise clothes the soil;
Wide fields, for harvest whitening,
Invite the reaper’s toil.

Go where the waves are breaking
On California’s shore,
Christ’s precious Gospel taking,
More rich than golden ore;
On Allegheny’s mountains,
Through all the western vale,
Beside Missouri’s fountains,
Rehearse the wondrous tale.

The love of Christ unfolding,
Speed on from east to west,
Till all, His cross beholding,
In Him are fully blest.
Great Author of salvation,
Haste, haste the glorious day,
When we, a ransomed nation,
Thy scepter shall obey!

Saints of God! the dawn is brightening,
Token of our coming Lord:
O’er the earth the field is whitening;
Louder rings the Master’s Word;
Pray for reapers, pray for reapers
In the harvest of the Lord!

Now, O Lord, fulfill Thy pleasure,
Breathe upon Thy chosen band,
And, with Pentecostal measure,
Send forth reapers o’er our land;
Faithful reapers, faithful reapers,
Gathering sheaves for Thy right hand.

Broad the shadow of our nation,
Eager millions hither roam;
Lo! they wait for Thy salvation;
Come, Lord Jesus! quickly come!
By Thy Spirit, by Thy Spirit,
Bring Thy ransomed people home.

Soon shall end the time of weeping,
Soon the reaping time will come;
Heaven and earth together keeping
God’s eternal harvest home.
Saints and angels, saints and angels,
Shout the world’s great harvest home.

Lord, Thou hast gone two thousand years,
Yet they have never heard
Tidings of Thy redeeming love,
Or seen Thy holy Word.
Sleeping and still Thy Church has lain,
Heedless of the high command—
“Go forth to ev’ry tribe and tongue,
To ev’ry distant land.”

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Send them, O Lord, to speak of Thee,
Telling of Thy love and grace;
Send them, O Lord, to tell of Thee,
To ev’ry tribe and race.

Once o’er this bright and favored land
Lay there the pall of night—
Gloom of a savage heathendom,
With foul and bloody rite.
Brave ones arose and came to us,
Bringing o’er the tidings sweet,
Then cruel men bent low to Thee,
And worshipped at Thy feet.

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So would we do for other lands
Lying in deepest death,
Sinking to meet their awful doom
With ev’ry passing breath.
Hear, Jesus, hear our fervent pray’r,
Wake Thy sleeping Church to know
Her hour of privilege and pow’r,
And bid her rise and go.

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