THE HARVEST OF THE LORD.
By C. M. Snow
Sleep not, sleep not!
“He that sleepeth in the harvest is a son that causeth shame.”
Sleep not, O sleep not now!
Go forth to the field, for the harvest is great;
Go forth for the laborers are few.
Pray the Lord of the harvest that He send forth men;
Shrink not when He calls for you.
’Tis the souls of men He is harvesting now
From the seed of the Word long sown;
And we must not shrink nor sorrowfully think
We are reaping in the field alone. Sleep not, sleep not!
For the harvest soon is ended, and the summer will be past.
Sleep not, O sleep not now!
The vintage is ripe, and the branch bendeth low with the load of the fruitful vine;
Go down, get you down, for the press is full,
The vats overflow with wine.
’Tis the eve of day, and the night draws on,
The wickedness of earth is great.
There’s a sickle bright that will flash ere night;
For that harvest will not wait. Sleep now, reap now!
Get you down unto the harvest, for their wickedness is great.
Sleep now, O reap ye now!
Go forth to the field, for the harvest is ripe,
Thrust in thy sickle and reap;
For the time has come for the reaping to be done—
Thrust in thy sickle and reap.
’Tis the heavenly call to the reapers all;
’Tis the last in the waning day:
And the angels reap while the slothful sleep,
And they bear the ripened sheaves away. Men work for the Lord in the harvest of the world,
Heed not, tho the sinful scoff;
For the Lord Himself is reaping, and the harvest of the world—
The harvest—is the end thereof.