1.Far and near the fields are teemingWith the sheaves of ripened grain;Far and near their gold is gleamingO'er the sunny slope and plain.Chorus:Lord of harvest, send forth reapers!Hear us, Lord, to thee we cry;Send them now the sheaves to gather,Ere the harvest time pass by.2.Send them forth with morn's first beaming,Send them in the noontide's glare;When the sun's last rays are streaming,Bid them gather ev'rywhere. [Chorus]3.O thou whom thy Lord is sending,Gather now the sheaves of gold,Heav'nward then at evening wendingThou shalt come with joy untold. [Chorus]