The summer is past,
The toil of the sowing,
The space of the growing—
Time hastens so fast.

How the winter draws on,
The winter of ages,
Of Scriptural pages,
When summer is flown.

But a few days more
Of faithfulness keeping,
Of watching and reaping,
The harvest is o’er.

But a numberless host
In shame will discover,
When harvest is over,
That all, all is lost.

Then, sinner, today,
While harvest is keeping,
Yield, yield, to the reaping
Of Jesus for aye.

Edw. J. Urquhart
–Review and Herald, January 1, 1914

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