1 The sum­mer har­vest spreads the field
Mark—how the whit­en­ing hills art turned!
Behold them to the reap­ers yield—
The wheat is saved—the tares are burned.

2 Thus the great Judge with glo­ry crowned
Descends to reap the rip­ened earth!
Angelic guards at­tend Him down,
The same who sang His hum­ble birth.

3 In sounds of glory hear Him speak,
“Go search around the flam­ing world;
Haste—call my saints to rise, and take
The seats from which their foes were hurled.

4 "Go, burn the chaff in end­less fire,
In flames un­quenched, con­sume each tare;
Sinners must feel My ho­ly ire,
And sink in guilt—to deep des­pair."

5 Thus ends the har­vest of the earth—
Angels ob­ey the aw­ful voice;
They save the wheat, they burn the chaff;
All Heav’n ap­proves the sov­er­eign choice.