The fields of wheat, golden, becoming ripe
The sun's great bounty, fields have come alive
The fields growth was nurtured by mother earth
With the rains sent by the heavy clouds
The darkness opaque, making gray the sky
The harvest is coming, for us all
Be ready, for the labors of the hand
Guiding the fields, preparing the land
We've inherited a world of plenty
The planter's hand is steady
But will we be worth the time
Spent by the planter of the seed
