Saints of God, the dawn is brightening, Token of our coming Lord; O’er the earth the field is whitening; Louder rings the Master’s word: Pray for reapers In the harvest of the Lord! 2. Now, O Lord, fulfil Thy pleasure, Breathe upon Thy chosen band, And, with Pentecostal measure, Send forth reapers o’er our land, Faithful reapers, Gathering sheaves for Thy right hand. 3. Broad the shadow of our nation, Eager millions hither roam; Lo! they wait for Thy salvation. Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come; By Thy Spirit Bring Thy ransomed people home. 4. Soon shall end the time of weeping, Soon the reaping time will come, Heaven and earth together keeping God’s eternal Harvest-home. Saints and angels Shout the world’s great Harvest-home. M. Maxwell, 1849. 471 7, 6, 8 l The morning light is breaking; The darkness disappears; The sons of earth are waking To penitential tears; Each breeze that sweeps the ocean Brings tidings from afar Of nations in commotion, Prepared for Zion’s war. 2. See heathen nations bending Before the God we love, And thousand hearts ascending In gratitude above; While sinners, now confessing, The Gospel call obey And seek the Savior’s blessing, A nation in a day. 3. Blest river of salvation, Pursue thy onward way; Flow thou to every nation, Nor in thy richness stay; Stay not till all the lowly Triumphant reach their home; Stay not till all the holy Proclaim, “The Lord is come!” S. F. Smith, 1832. 472 7, 6, 8 l Our country’s voice is pleading, Ye men of God, arise! His providence is leading, The land before you lies; Day-gleams are o’er it brightening, And promise clothes the soil; Wide fields, for harvest whitening, Invite the reaper’s toil. 2. Go where the waves are breaking On California’s shore, Christ’s precious Gospel taking, More rich than golden ore; On Alleghany’s mountains, Through all the Western vale, Beside Missouri’s fountains, Rehearse the wondrous tale. 3. His love of Christ unfolding, Speed on from east to west, Till all, His Cross beholding, In Him are fully blessed. Great Author of salvation, Haste, haste the glorious day, When we, a ransomed nation, Thy scepter shall obey. Maria F. Anderson, 1848. 473 L. M.