Can't you see the fields are turning white?
The season soon complete,
Planting time is almost gone, and nearly time to reap,
So before walls come tumbling down, before the curtain's raised, before the hot wind howls...
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will toil in the heat of the day?
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will put the yield to the blade for me?
For me...
Just like a woman's labor, this world is racked in pain,
Its cries will fill the air 'til something breaks the chain,
Can't you see the seed is going out?
Do you hear the workers sing?
Before the hot wind howls...
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will toil in the heat of the day?
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will put the yield to the blade for me?
For me...
For me...
For me...
In the still of the night do you hear a voice whisper?
And in the middle of the great congregation do you hear a voice cry?
And you people out in TV land...
Hear the voice,
Hear the voice...
(Hear me)
For me...
For me...
Don't you see the tools are in your hand?
Can't you hear the workers sing?
Before the hot wind howls...
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will toil in the heat of the day?
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will toil in the heat of the day?
Who will bring the harvest home?
Who will put the yield to the blade for me?
For me...
For me...
For me...
For me...
For me...
For me...
