1. We should pray the Lord of Harvest,
"Reapers send into Thy field."
Few are reapers; white and wasting
Are the fields, how rich the yield.

2. Holy Father, send a seraph,
From the altar take a coal.
Cleanse my lips, I hear, "Whom shall I send
To garner precious souls?"

3. Not four months away the harvest,
Fields are white: lift up your eyes.
Fruit for life eternal gather,
Rich the wages for such prize.

4. Pluck as embers from the burning
Souls for whom the Savior died.
Oh, then send me, Christ of mercy,
To the doomed and lost outside.