The Missionary | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 24, 1881

The Missionary.

NO GARNERED SHEAVES.

ALMOST ripe was the harvest, With its wealth of waving grain; And I looked for the reapers busy, Scattered up and down the plain. Oh, I watched till the fields were whitened, But no one came to glean; And I saw how the reapers, listless, Just leaned on their sickles keen.

And I called, "O reapers hasten! There's a chill breath over the plain; Ye must gather the harvest quickly, And bind up the ripened grain!" But the reapers replied, "We're ready To join in the harvest-home; And we wait with our sickles sharpened, Till the Master-reaper come."

Oh, where was the Master-reaper, That he tarried when fields grew ripe? And why were the reapers all listless When their sickles were glancing so bright? From places made fragrant with blossoms, All over the fruit-strewn lands, They were bringing the choicest of treasures For the Master-reaper's hands.

And now, when the Lord of the harvest Is calling all over his lands— When the laborers, eager and joyous, Are hastening with well-filled hands; I know as they pass before him, How he looks on his own, and grieves For the wasted fields—for the many Who are bringing no garnered sheaves.