Harvest Cry

My field are white
My laborers are few
Go forth, there is much work left to do

He that goeth forth and weeping
Bearing precious seed
Shall doubtless come
Rejoicing with sheep for him.

Hasten, do not linger
For the times is drawing nigh
Soon there will be a soul's last cry,

Work in my field
While there is still time
Night time is coming
Work will be done.

Go preach my word
Far and near
To those who have a heart and
A listening ear.
Yea! Go forth!

by Anne Mae Roberts

Other poems of ANNE MAE ROBERTS (2)

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