M. REBECCA DARR.
JAS. L. ORR.
1. The fields are white,
O reaper, go,
No longer idly wait;
But gather in the harvest ripe
Before it be too late.
The sweet reward of honest toil
Bind up at any cost;
And know the sheaves, tho' small they seem,
Can never more be lost.
2. And gath'ring in the precious grain,
To reap no tares, take heed;
But gather all in purest gems of thought and word and deed.
Oh, haste! the Master calleth thee,
The laborers too few;
Go, toil with willing heart and hand
To reap the good and true.