The Harvest-Call

Abide not in the realm of dreams, 
O man, however fair it seems, 
Where drowsy airs thy powers repress 
In languors of sweet idleness.

Nor linger in the misty past, 
Entranced in visions vague and vast; 
But with clear eye the present scan, 
And hear the call of God and man.

That call, though many-voiced, is one, 
With mighty meanings in each tone; 
Through sob and laughter, shriek and prayer, 
Its summons meets thee everywhere.

Think not in sleep to fold thy hands, 
Forgetful of thy Lord's commands; 
From duty's claims no life is free — 
Behold, to-day hath need of thee!

Look up! the wide extended plain 
Is billowy with its ripened grain,
And on the summer-winds are rolled 
Its waves of emerald and gold.

Thrust in thy sickle! nor delay 
The work that calls for thee to-day: 
To-morrow, if it come, will bear 
Its own demands of toil and care.

The present hour allots thy task! 
For present strength and patience ask, 
And trust His love whose sure supplies 
Meet all thy needs as they arise.

Lo! the broad fields with harvests white 
Thy hands to strenuous toil invite; 
And he who labors and believes 
Shall reap reward of ample sheaves.

Up, for the time is short! and soon 
The morning sun will climb to noon: 
Up! ere the herds, with trampling feet, 
Outrunning thine, shall spoil the wheat.

"While the day lingers, do thy best! 
Full soon the night will bring its rest; 
And, duty done, that rest shall be 
Full of beatitudes to thee.