The God of Harvest Praise

The God of har­vest praise

In loud thanks­giv­ings

raise

Hand

heart

and voice;

The val­leys laugh and sing

Forests and mount­ains ring

The plains their trib­ute bring

The streams re­joice.

Of food for man and beast

Jehovah spreads a feast

Above

be­neath:

Ye herds and flocks

draw near

Fowls

ye are wel­come here;

His good­ness crowns the year

For all that breathe.

Garden and or­chard ground

Autumnal fruits have crowned

The vin­tage glows:

Here plen­ty pours her horn;

There the full tide of corn

Swayed by the breath of morn

The land o’er­flows.

The wind

the rain

the sun

Their ge­ni­al work have done;

Wouldst thou be fed?

Man

to thy la­bor bow

Thrust in the sick­le now

Reap where thou once didst plough

God sends thee bread.

Thy few seeds scat­tered wide

His hand hath mul­ti­plied;

Here thou may’st find

Christ’s mi­ra­cle re­newed;

With self-pro­duc­ing food

He feeds a mul­ti­tude—

He feeds man­kind.

The God of har­vest praise;

Hands

hearts

and voic­es raise

With one ac­cord;

From field to gar­ner throng

Bearing your sheaves along;

And in your har­vest song

Bless ye the Lord.

Yea

bless His ho­ly name

And your souls’ thanks pro­claim

Through all the earth:

To glo­ry in your lot

Is come­ly—but be not

His be­ne­fits fo­rgot

Amidst your mirth.