Do not go weeping to the harvest field,
The tasks our Father gives are pleasant tasks;
How grand the victory, how sure the yield,
When each, upon his work, God's blessing asks.
Oh, hear and heed the Father's loving call:
"Come, work within My harvest field today."
There is no task too great and none too small
For us to do, when God points out the way.
These are the seeds which yield the golden grain:
The loving word, the secret kindly deed.
The hand outreaching, not for worldly gain,
But with compassion for another's need.
Be not discouraged, though the day seem long.
Nor cease your labor till, with victory won,
You gather in your sheaves with harvest song
And hear the Master's sweetest words, "Well done."
