Grass is cut Grass is mowed Grass is made into bales And as we look upon the scene We call it harvest-time.
We cart it in We stack in shed There's the heat and there's the flies We wonder how the time goes by And yet we call it harvest-time.
Yet do we look And consider this That time is passing by That soon one day He will appear And call it harvest-time.
Page created 2 November 2018, 5:20 pm AEDT.
