1 Oh, brother the harvest is ready,
The grain standeth white in the field,
Go work while the sun shineth o’er us,
Abundant and glorious the yield.

Refrain:
The night is not long in its coming,
The rain in its season will fall;
The grain that is left ungathered,
Will be lost beyond recall.

2 Oh, thrust in thy sickle my brother,
The days pass so swiftly away;
The grain is all ripe for the harvest,
The loss will be great in delay. [Refrain]

3 The Lord of the harvest is waiting,
The sheaves of the bright golden grain;
He calls to the lab’rers to hasten,
Ere falleth the pitiless rain. [Refrain]

4 Oh, sweet will thy joy be, my brother,
When coming at close of the day,
To bring all your sheaves to the Master,
And hear the “well done” He will say. [Refrain]