THE HARVEST by L. D. Santee

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Aug 17, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 33.

THE HARVEST.

By L. D. Santee

BY L. D. SANTEE.

I see afar, the gleam of ripening harvests, Where strong, brown arms bind up the golden grain; But in life's harvest that is ever ripening How few toil on in weariness and pain!

Beyond the azure, heaven's fair fields are gleaming, In that bright day where shadows never fall; And yet, how many hours in idle dreaming, Pass by unheeded, lost beyond recall!

The changing seasons to the past are drifting, And souls are gathered for the judgment day; Between the bud and blossom, snows are sifting, And earth-life passes rapidly away.

But O, how few the lamp of life are holding To light the darkness of unseeing eyes! How few point upward to that blest unfolding That opes the pearly gates of Paradise!

I see the gleaming of the harvest golden Where sinewy hands bind up the ripened grain; But grander, sweeter is the story olden Of Christ, His life of sacrifice and pain.

And life's great harvest on each side is bending, Whitening and waiting for the reaper's hand; But few are laboring with a love unending, To garner treasures for the shining land.

Across the skies the evening shades are stealing, The mists are gone, that crowned the hills with haze, O'er all the landscape, vesper sounds are pealing, And soon will end for aye our pilgrim days.