I was musing on the “Reaper,”
While the spring-time glided past,
With its leaves and buds of promise,
All too fair, too sweet to last.
I was shrinking from the Reaper,
While the summer sun shone bright,
While the sky above was glowing,
And my path was bathed in light.
I was ready for the Reaper,
When the autumn-time came round,
As the leaves of desolation
Fill’d the air, and strew’d the ground.
For the summer sun was scorching,
And the autumn winds were chill;
They have hasten’d on the ripening,
Yet am I left waiting still!
Yes! left waiting for the Reaper,
While He tarries on His way.
Will He linger till the winter?
Will He still prolong His stay?
Oh! I’m waiting for the Reaper,
For the long’d-for harvest “shout.”
I am standing in my sandals,
With my loins all girt about.
Yet. though waiting for the Reaper,
My heart’s attitude is here
Looking upward—ever upward,
Till my promised Lord appear.
For I know His hast’ning footsteps
Are already on their way;
He may come at any moment,
In the night or in the day.
Thus, I’m waiting for the Reaper,
With the garner full in view—
Till call’d I still am waiting,
For there’s winter work to do!
J. T.