Born To Be A Reaper
Written by George Leon Pike, Sr.
Copyright © 1996 by Betty M. Pike
1. I can never be contented,
For my heart is made to wander,
Like the swallow I’m from pillar unto pole,
For I’m searching for a city,
Where there’ll be no scenes to pity,
My feet were made to walk the streets of gold.
2. When the dark clouds stand together,
And I see the stormy weather,
When the snowflakes fall around and bring the cold,
When my body starts to tremble,
There’s one thing that I remember,
The enemy can never touch my soul.
3. Like the prophets I’m a pilgrim,
And I’m looking for the city,
Whose builder and maker, friend, is God.
And my body is His temple,
He will dwell in it forever,
While His glory lights the city up above.
I was born to be a reaper,
In the vineyard of my keeper,
I was born to labor in the field of God,
And my hands were made to harvest,
In the place that is the hardest,
Among the tares that crucified the soul.