D        G
Far and near the fields are teeming
D    Bm     G     A7
With the waves of ripened grain;
D    D7     G
Far and near their gold is gleaming
D     Bm G A7 D
O'er the sunny slopes and plain.

Chorus:
D         G      A7
Lord of Harvest, send forth reapers;
F#m Bm    G    A7
Hear us Lord, to Thee we cry.
D     D7      G
Send then now the sheaves to gather,
D    Bm A7    D
Ere the harvest-time pass by.
Send them forth with morn's first beaming;
Send them in the noontide's glare.
When the sun's last rays are gleaming,
Bid them gather everywhere.
O Thou, whom Thy Lord is sending,
Gather now the sheaves of gold.
Heav'nward them at evening wending,
Thou shalt come with joy untold.

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