The Laborers Are Few by L. D. Santee

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Nov 15, 1906

The Laborers Are Few

By L. D. Santee

L. D. SANTEE

THERE'S a weary longing in brain and heart, A pain that I can not make depart, As I think of the crowds that walk in sin, The tares that the tempter has gathered in, Of the waiting ones in the dark that stand, Fainting for bread from a Saviour's hand; Soon will the years of probation end, But whom can the Lord of the harvest send?

The fields to be gathered are broad and white, And the grain for the sickle is fully ripe; But the reapers,—O, how few on the plain! While, alas! is wasting the golden grain! The day is waning, the sun's glad light Will soon be followed by gloom of night, And many a sheaf that the wind has tossed, For the lack of the reapers will be lost.

The servants of darkness are busy, too; Their snares are legion, the broad fields through, And many a soul for whom Christ died, By the snares of the wicked is turned aside. With no one to gather the golden grain, 'Twill be bound with the tares in bands of pain, And I pray, with an aching heart and brow, “O Lord, send reapers, and send them now.”

Soon will the last sheaf droop and fall, And the mantle of night will cover all; The work of the reaper will then be done, And the grain that is saved will be gathered home; But, O! must we plead, and plead in vain, For reapers to gather the precious grain? Once more we pray, and we plead with tears, For reapers to work till the Lord appears.

Chicago, Ill.