Go Work in My Vineyard
“Go work in My vineyard,” there’s plenty to do;
The harvest is great and the lab’rers are few;
There’s weeding and fencing, and clearing of
And plowing, and sowing, and gath’ring of fruits.
There are foxes to take, there are wolves to destroy,
All ages and ranks I can fully employ;
I’ve sheep to
be tended, and lambs to be fed;
The lost must be gathered, the weary ones led.
Go work, go work, go work in My vineyard; there’s plenty to
Go work, go work, the harvest is great, and the lab’rers are few.
“Go work in My vineyard”; I claim thee as Mine;
With blood did I buy thee and all that is
Thy time and thy talents, thy loftiest powers,
Thy warmest affections, thy sunniest hours.
I willingly yielded My kingdom for thee,
The song of archangels—
to hang on the tree,
In pain and temptation, in anguish and shame,
I paid thy full ransom; My purchase I claim
“Go work in My vineyard”; oh, work while ’tis day!
The bright hours of sunshine are hastening away,
And night’s gloomy shadows are gathering
The time for our labor will ever be past.
Begin in the morning and toil all the day;
Thy strength I’ll supply, and thy wages I’ll pay;
thrice blessèd, the diligent few,
Who finish the labor I’ve giv’n them to do.
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