Saints of God, the Dawn Is Brightening
Saints of God! the dawn is brightening,
Tokens of our coming Lord;
O'er the earth the field is whitening;
Louder rings the Master's word,—
“Pray for reapers
In the harvest of the Lord.” Feebly now they toil in sadness,
Weeping o'er the waste around,
Slowly gathering grains of gladness,
While their echoing cries resound,—
“Pray that reapers
In God's harvest may abound.” Now, O Lord, fulfill thy pleasure,
Breathe upon thy chosen band,
And with pentecostal measure,
Send forth reapers o'er our land,—
Faithful reapers,
Gathering sheaves for thy right hand. Ocean calleth unto ocean,
Heralds speed from shore to shore,
Heralding the world's commotion;
Hear the conflict at our door,—
Mighty conflict,—
Satan's death-cry on our shore! Broad the shadow of our nation,
Eager millions hither roam;
Lo! they wait for thy salvation;
Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come;
By thy Spirit,
Bring thy ransomed people home. Soon shall end the time of weeping,
Soon the reaping time will come,—
Heaven and earth together keeping
God's eternal harvest home:
Saints and angels
Shout the world's great harvest home.