R5307-271 Poem: The Harvest Call

::R5307 : page 271::


Come, labor on.
Who dares stand idle on the harvest plain,
When all around him waves the golden grain,
And every servant hears the Master say,
“Go, work today”?

Come, labor on.
The laborers are few, the field is white,
No rest have they who labor for the right;
From distant voices far, or near at home,
The call is, “Come!”

Come, labor on.
No time for rest till glows the western sky,
And the long shadows o’er our pathway lie;
Then a glad sound comes with the setting sun,
“Servants, well done!”

Come, labor on.
The toil is pleasant, the reward is sure;
Blessed are those who to the end endure;
How full their joy, how deep their rest will be
O Lord, with THEE! Unknown.


— September 1, 1913 —