Great Husbandman, at thy command,
Saints sowed thy seed with lib'ral hand—
And, mindful of thy heav'nly call,
Onward they went, forsaking all.
On through the sad and weary years
They sowed the precious seed with tears,
And stayed their hearts in faith sublime
With prospects of the harvest time.
No longer saints in sorrow go,
In tears and sadness forth to sow;
For he who bade them sow and weep
Hath called them now in joy to reap.
Now doth the joyful reaper come
Bearing his sheaves in triumph home;
The voice long saddened now doth sing,
And loud their songs of triumph ring.
E'en here, on this side Jordan, stand
The gathered sheaves from ev'ry land;
And he that sowed, in joy doth reap,
And harvest home together keep.