All The World’s A Field

All the world’s a field,
In which humanity is the grain.
And the heads that won’t, to the Master, yield,
Trade eternal pleasure for unending pain.

For, Jesus Christ our Lord,
Has taken up His fork to winnow.
In His barn the wheat will be stored,
But the chaff shall be given to fire and sorrow.

His threshing floor will be cleared,
And the fruit taken into His home.
But the tares with conscience seared,
Will be scattered to, wastelands, roam.

There is a Lord of the harvest,
And as our Planter this is His right.
I say this not to be alarmist,
But so that you may be brought into the light.

We did not make ourselves,
And to our Maker we’re beholden.
Every creature that, against Him, rebels,
Will not tread His streets paved golden.

Our gracious God does not desire,
That any should face fire unquenchable.
He Who above Whom none is higher,
Has made this fate, for us, preventable.

Jesus Christ, God’s own Son,
Came to us full of grace and truth.
So that from death we might be won,
He died when hardly past His youth.

The Lord of the field descended,
And for our sin was killed.
Although we, His holiness, offended,
Willingly, for us, His blood was spilled.

Now we can be grafted in,
To Jesus the true Vine;
Become, in His kingdom, a citizen,
And be adopted into His family divine.

Christ our Lord has conquered death;
He bore our sin and rose from the grave.
There’s none who’ve sunk to such a depth,
That He’s not eager and able to save.

Trust in this gracious God of love,
And be made a fruitful tree.
All who believe will dwell with Him above,
And become the person they’re meant to be.

The Lord of the Harvest will return;
Abide in Him and you’ll be grateful,
You did not, His love, spurn,
And that you have been found faithful.