Classic Poem

How the golden moments go, in our labors here below!
Days, and months, and years of precious time unheeded seem to fly,
Yet there is so much to do, and the laborers are few,
While the harvest time is passing, and the days are going by
All around on ev'ry side is the harvest field, so wide!
There's no need for you to cross the rolling waters to begin;
— Here a word, and there a deed for the Master intercede,
Pointing precious souls to Jesus, from the barren fields of sin
There's a mansion bright above to the faithful in his love,
And will not each soul you rescue, be a jewel for your crown?
Then be ready for the fray, go and labor while you may,
Never weary on the battle-field, nor lay your armor down.

Work, work, work! not a moment wait,
You must labor if you hope to wear the crown;
You must work, work, work! ere it be too late,
For behold! the sun is surely going down.