THE MASTER WANTS WORKERS.
By Rev. F. J. Stevens
The Master wants workers, his harvest is white;
His command, "Go ye forth," is to all;
Go, work with a will, and let not the dark night
On an ungathered harvest-field fall.
The Master wants workers, and calleth for you,
There's work for the smallest and weakest to do. The Master wants workers, and that which is right
He will give at the end of the day;
So thrust in thy sickle, and work with thy might;
If not gathered, ripe grain will decay.
The Master wants workers, then why will ye not
Begin now to serve him? 'Tis not a hard lot. The Master wants workers, each service he knows,
Not one is too small to record;
E'en he who a cup of cold water bestows
In His name, shall not lose his reward.
The Master wants workers, oh, why still delay?
Begin in his service to labor to-day. The Master wants workers, the night cometh soon,
When the weary shall rest from all care;
When those who have toiled through the heat of the noon
Shall no longer its weariness bear.
The Master wants workers. Think what he has borne
That you might his crown of rejoicing adorn. The Master wants workers, his harvest is great;
'Tis the world with its millions untaught,
A multitude vast rushing on to their fate,
Knowing not what their Saviour has wrought.
The Master wants workers, a host of true men,
To lead them to Jesus from hill, plain, and glen.
—Rev. F. J. Stevens.