LORD of the harvest, help me 

Some sheaves to gather in, 

Oh! Give me souls for Jesus, 

From the broad fields of sin. 

I'll bear the heat and burden 

Of all life's harvest day; 

In strength divine I'll glory, 

Nor faint along the way.

With love, oh! Let me gather 

From childhood's happy throng, 

Such as are learning early 

To chant redemption's song. 

I'll bring them to my Saviour, 

An offering pure and bright; 

Such gained his earthly blessings, 

And gem his crown of light.

Help me to pluck the erring 

From ways that lead to death; 

I'll tell them of the gladness 

In wisdom's pleasant path; 

I'll bear the scoffs and jesting 

Of those in Satan's snares, 

And seek anon to pluck them, 

From place among the tares.

Oh! For this mission fit me, 

Let me be pure within; 

Give the divine anointing, 

And free me from all sin; 

And then in Heaven crown me, 

Grant me a robe and palm, 

Amid the blood-washed harpers 

Who praise the atoning Lamb.