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1 Lift up your eyes, ye sons of light,
Behold the fields already white!
The glorious harvest now is come;
See ransom'd sinners flocking home.
2 Mov'd by the spirit's softest wind,
Their hearts are all as one inclin'd;
Their former sins and follies mourn;
They bow, and to their God return.
3 Improve the harvest fleeting fast,
Ere yet the shining season past,
When all the work of life shall end,
The last--the long dark night descend.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | Lift up your eyes, ye sons of light |
| Meter: | L. M. |
| Publication Date: | 1828 |
| Scripture: | |
| Topic: | Sickness and Recovery |
| Notes: | Public Domain. |
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