Not Yet

Not yet is the sum­mer ended

Not yet is the har­vest past;

But the fields with the grain are gold­en

And the days are wan­ing fast.

Not yet

not yet is the su­mmer ended

Not yet is the har­vest past;

But the sea­son of hope will be over

And the har­vest will come at last.

Not yet have the sheaves been ga­thered;

But oh! it will not be long

Till a sound from the fields shall reach thee

Of the reap­er’s happy song.

Not yet is the hand of mer­cy

Removed from the op­en door;

There is time for thy soul’s re­turn­ing

Ere the day of grace is o’er.

O come

as the Lord com­mand­eth;

Not yet is the har­vest past

And the sum­mer is not yet end­ed;

But the days are wan­ing fast.