Classic Poem

The field is large, the barn at hand,
the reapers quick and wise.
The stubble flames, and sinful souls
lie down and never rise.

In Gog and Magog hell shall spew
that last and filthy foam,
and before winter comes again
we shall be all at home.

I tire thee, friend; I make an end.
But see thou bend thy line
and heart to sing in this thy spring
of Christ thy King and mine.

The field is large, the barn at hand,
the reapers quick and wise.
The stubble flames, and sinful souls
lie down and never rise.

In Gog and Magog hell shall spew
that last and filthy foam,
and before winter comes again
we shall be all at home.

I tire thee, friend; I make an end.
But see thou bend thy line
and heart to sing in this thy spring
of Christ thy King and mine.