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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 24, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 8.

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By C. M. Snow

What place have I in Thy work to-day, O Lord of the harvest field? Have I naught to do but wait and pray, While others the sickle wield? Why stands another with sickle bright, And I with an empty hand? Why brings he sheaves with the evening light, While here I fruitless stand?
“Go forth, go forth to the field,” He cried, “And lend thy willing aid; And when thou comest at eventide, Thy toil shall be repaid.”
The Master's word I heeded then, But falteringly obeyed; For I could not follow the reaper men Without the reaper's blade.
But when I reached the field, and stood In the midst of the ripened grain, With a heart to do what my two hands could, My Lord's command was plain. There were sickles enough for each reaper there, And sheaves of golden brown; And the whole broad field was a house of prayer From dawn till the sun went down.
C. M. SNOW.