“Harvest is great, laborers are few,”
night has come, so much work to do.
Souls hurting, so many are crying,
souls lost, God help, many are dying!
Like the ten virgins, many are a sleep,
Oh…for souls, we must pray and weep.
I said my righteousness is as a filthy rag,
He said, go…His work my feet not drag.
Abraham’s bosom I see, not many there,
in hell’s depths, many suffering..compare!
When I stand before that judgment throne,
God, I might give account, talent I did own!
To work so diligent and hard for You
that I might with care win a soul a new!
I ask…my heart not be callous to lost souls,
that I might see those falling through the holes.
Care for those hurting, those lost, be my concern,
how to help the hurting, win a soul, all should learn.
The most precious commodity, is people here,
let us feel their hurts and with love draw them near.
When men loose consciousness of a lost soul,
he, his compass has lost, souls pay the toll!
God said, that..”not His will that any should perish,”
oh please God, let men, every precious soul cherish!!