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The Fields Are White

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Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Dec 15, 1909

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 36, No. 49.

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“The Fields Are White”

By Henrietta Edgar

O, LISTEN to the pleading From far-off darkened lands, How can ye tarry longer With idle folded hands?
The Master looks with anguish Upon His wasting grain. O, haste to do His bidding, Nor longer give Him pain.
The wage of earnest toilers Will surely be repaid, When at His piercéd feet The precious sheaf is laid.
The sweetest words, “My child, well done,” Will all the toil repay, When with our blessed Saviour We enter endless day.
HENRIETTA EDGAR.