The sun smiles on the wheat fields
Giving warmth to all the seeds
The clouds bring rain to water them
Supplying all their needs
The stalks appear in season
And reach toward the sun
Which draws them with its warmth and light
Until their work is done
At harvest time the reapers
With sickles in their hands
Gather up the golden wheat
That stands on fertile lands
Oh, Master of the harvest
In due season You’ll appear
To reap the golden fields of wheat
For which You paid so dear
About Me
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