O list to the music that floats on the air,
The valleys are smiling, the reapers are there;
The summer rewards us with plenty again;
Then thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.
Refrain
Gather the grain, gather the grain;
Thanks for the sunshine, the dew, and the rain;
Sunshine is yielding its harvest again,
Then thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.
O why should we tarry from labor today?
The reapers are calling, and we must away;
The sky is unclouded and soft is the wind;
The bright sheaves are waving and ready to bind.
Refrain
We ask of the Master, our strength to renew,
Tho’ great is the harvest, the toilers are few;
We pray that to others His grace He may give,
To work and be faithful as long as they live.
Refrain
The harvest is passing, to greet us no more,
The summer is ending, and soon will be o’er;
Our moments neglected, return not again—
Now thrust in the sickle and gather the grain.
Refrain