The sun is low,
The storm clouds grow
Hear the mighty trumpet sound.

The Lord has called
Unto His fields:
Laborers for one final round
In the harvest of men's souls.

Thrust in your sickle
With all your might,
With all your heart
With all your strength,

Open your mouth
With faith to believe,
And ye shall be laden
With sheaves.

Thrust in your sickle
With all your soul,
Fear not what men may say
For lo, God is with you, always.

Behold the field lies full and white;
Now the wheat and tares are known.
Reap with the light—
Soon falls the night
When no more work can be done.

Ye know not when
The summer shall be past;
When the labor has an end,
Will your harvest be made fast?
Or will you return
With empty hands?
With empty hands?

Thrust in your sickle
With all your might,
With all your heart
With all your strength,

Open your mouth
With faith to believe,
And ye shall be laden
With sheaves.

Thrust in your sickle
With all your soul,
Fear not what men may say
For lo, God is with you, always.

For lo, God is with you, always.

Words by Toni Thomas
Music by Diane Tuiofu

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