The Reapers' Home by ALEX. MARTIN

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Nov 28, 1912

The Reapers' Home

By ALEX. MARTIN

ALEX. MARTIN

I AM thinking to-day of that beautiful land We shall reach when the harvest is past, And the songs of the angels will ring through the air As we lay down our sickles at last.

When the Lord of the harvest will come in his might, He will lead that great band from above; They will gather the reapers and carry them home, There to dwell in the smiles of his love.

When we get to the end of our journey at last, We shall enter the city of gold, With its walls all of jasper, its twelve gates of pearl, And with glories that can not be told.

In the midst of the street is the river of life, Clear as crystal its pure water flows 'Neath the arch that is formed by the life-giving tree On whose branches the fruit of life grows.

In the leaves of the tree there is healing and balm, Of its fruit every month we shall eat; While our thirst shall be quenched by the stream from the throne, As we drink of its waters so sweet.

There will be for its light neither candle nor sun, For the Lamb is its light evermore; And around the white throne of our Sa- viour and King Will be heard songs of praise o'er and o'er.

Now the end is at hand, and our work must be done, For the harvest is ripening fast; Let us gather some wheat from the tares of the world To present to the Master at last.

Let us work with our might all the morn, noon, and night, Till the Lord of the harvest shall come; And with him we'll arise to the man- sions of rest, There to share in the glad harvest home.

Los Angeles, Cal.