Come with Me into the fields

Dan Schutte

The fields are high and summer's days are few;
green fields have turned to gold.
The time is here for the harvesting,
for gathering home into barns.

Refrain:
The harvest is plenty, laborers are few.
Come with me into the fields.
Your arms may grow weary; your shoes will wear thin.
Come with me into the fields.

The seeds were sown by other hands than yours;
nurtured and cared for they grew.
But those who have sown will not harvest them;
the reaping will not be their care.