The Whitened Fields by Meta E. B. Thorne

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 24, 1902

The Whitened Fields

By Meta E. B. Thorne

So many idle, folded hands, And the harvest fields are white; Low droop the heavy heads of wheat That wait the reaper’s weary feet, The sickle in his willing hands, For the “harvest fields are white.”

So many here that sit at ease, While ’neath yon darker skies The wretchedness and misery Even angels well might weep to see. How can we dare to sit at ease Beneath these golden skies?

So fleet, so few, the moments be For binding up the sheaves! The Master calls; do not delay, But haste some fruit to win to-day, For soon our only joy shall be In bringing home the sheaves.

—Meta E. B. Thorne, in Heathen Woman’s Friend.