First Line: Oh, where are the reapers that garner in,

Oh, where are the reapers that garner in
The sheaves of the good from the fields of sin ?
With sickles of truth must the work
be done,
And no one may rest till the harvest home.

Where are the reapers ? Oh, who will come
And share in the glory of the harvest home ?
Oh, who will help us to gamer in
The sheaves of good from the fields of sin ?

2 Go out in the byways and search
them all :
The wheat may be there, though the weeds are tall :
Then search in the highway, and pass none by,
But gather from all for the home on high.

3 The fields are all ripening, and far and wide
The world now is waiting the harvest-tide :
But reapers are few, and the work is great,
And much will be lost should the harvest wait.

4 So come with your sickles, ye sons of men,
And gather together the golden grain :
Toil on till the Lord of the harvest come,
Then share in the joy of the harvest home.