I. B. Woodbury (398/413) -- Hymns and Spiritual Songs

I. B. Woodbury HO! reapers of life’s harvest, Why stand with rusted blade, Until the night draws round you, 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? 2 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? 3 Come down from hill and mountain In morning’s ruddy glow, Nor wait until the dial Points to the noon below; And come with the strong sinew, Nor faint in heat or cold; And pause not till the evening Draws round its wealth of gold. 4 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.