Look up; look up, the Master pleas
A gleaming harvest waits
Oh, who will garner in the sheaves
Before it is too late
Go forth; go forth, His urgent charge
Reverberates in love
As He beholds the threshing-floor
In courtyards up above
Behold, behold the whitened yield
A precious, priceless span
Oh, who will labor in the field
To gather while he can?
Look up; look up, the Master pleas
There is so much to do
The harvest bends with ripened wheat
But laborers are few
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!