Ye loit’rers in the marketplace

September 19

Ye loit’rers in the marketplace,
Why do ye idle stand?
Come forth unto the harvest field,
There’s work on ev’ry hand!
The ripened grain is bending low,
And soon it may be lost,
The kernels fair be quick to save,
Wait not to count the cost.

A field, the Master calls this world,
And grains, the souls of men;
Each one is precious in His sight,
Tho’ hid in lonely glen.
He fain would gather ev’ry grain,
But laborers are few;
Come forth and help Him save His own,
There’s work for you to do.

If idle still ye longer stand,
Nor heed the Master’s call,
How shall ye answer for the loss,
If grains to earth shall fall?
Then hasten to the harvest field,
The Master’s call obey,
And labor with a willing hand
Until the close of day.

Chorus
Come forth, come forth, the Master’s call obey!
Come forth, come forth,
He bids you come to day;
Come forth, come forth, the Master’s call obey!
Come forth, come forth,
He bids you come today.
     Effie Wells Loucks