The Harvest Home

Though in the outward church below,
The wheat and tares together grow;
Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares in anger up.

Will it relieve their horrors there,
To recollect their stations here;
How much they heard, how much they knew,
How much among the wheat they grew?
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*

No! this will aggravate their case,
They perish'd under means of grace,
To them the word of life and faith
Became an instrument of death.
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*

We seem alike when thus we meet,
Strangers might think we all were wheat,
But to the Lord's all-searching eyes,
Each heart appears without disguise.
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*

The tares are spared for various ends,
Some for the sake of praying friends:
Others the Lord. against their will,
Employs his counsels to fulfil.
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*

But though they grow so tall and strong,
His plan will not require them long;
In harvest, when he saves his own,
The tares shall into hell be thrown.
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*

Oh! awful thought, and is it so?
Must all mankind the harvest know?
Is every man a wheat or tare?
Me, for that harvest, Lord, prepare.
*For soon the reaping time will, &c.*